


The Witches of Darkmount

by Eleanor_Burns



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon), Transformers Generation One
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gorgons (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 63,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleanor_Burns/pseuds/Eleanor_Burns
Summary: Following the events of "Seed of Mercy": Autobots and Decepticons alike are threatened by the discovery of a renegade faction operating out of Gem ruins. The Crystal Gems' help could tip the balance ... but Rose Quartz has only just given up her life, and Pearl especially has other things on her mind.
Kudos: 4





	1. The Wild Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In ancient times, fleeing from slave traders, the young Cretan Siproites stumbles upon the domain of the goddess Artemis and her retinue ... of transforming, metallic, giant women. Needless to say, later mythology will edit this encounter rather heavily.

**"You like that, little man?"**

_Island of Aeaea, Aegean Sea, circa 1,000 BCE._

"We'll find you, boy," snarled the voice of one of the slavers from disturbingly close at hand, while Siproites crouched low in the undergrowth and fought the urge to breathe too noisily. "Never you doubt it, and when we do, I'll make you wish to Hades you'd kept that sorry sissy hide of yours back in the galley where it-"

"Oh, _great_ idea, Hiram!" interrupted the bosun's voice, scathingly. "That's _really_ going to encourage him to give himself up. Look 'ere, lad," he continued, aiming for a reasonable, almost friendly tone. Considering how often the man had beaten and spat at him over the past few days, it was all Siproites could do not to laugh, but knowing that the result would be worse than a death sentence was enough to kill any mirth. "What's the good of this, eh? What, you'd like it if we just weighed anchor as soon as we've taken on water and left you here? This island's the arse end of nowhere, in case you hadn't noticed, and _you_ can't even hunt worth a damn. You proved that back on Crete, when we caught you. A rutting aurochs would have been stealthier. Oh, I guess you could scrape around in the dirt for roots like a hog for the rest of your days, but don't you reckon you might be better off in Tyre or Sidon, even as a slave? Decent food, clothes, roof over your head. Sure, there'll be hard graft and hard strokes, but you seriously think your life's gonna be easier _here_?"

"Then again, the work mightn't even be that hard," suggested Hiram, trying to copy his superior's example, although the nicest tone he could muster was lewd and sneering rather than friendly. "I mean to say, pretty little slip like you … Not much good for heaving bricks or working the fields, maybe, but I'll wager there's a few brothels in Tyre that'd gladly take you off our hands and pay well for it. Heck, _I_ didn't know whether to beat you or kiss you when I first saw you. Zeus only knows how your poor daddy feels about having a useless sissy runt for a son – like as not we're doing him a real favour – but at least we can take you somewhere your kind might be appreciated. That's if you don't force us to un-pretty you, of course. I won't say I'm not strongly tempt- … What in Poseidon's name is _that?_ "

Consumed by fear and shame – even from an evil brute like Hiram, painful truths could wound keenly – it took Siproites a few seconds to realise that events had taken an even nastier, and stranger turn. At first, he thought from the commotion and the screeching, bestial sounds that the sailors had disturbed a wild boar, but the longer it went on, the less likely that seemed. _A lousy hunter I may be, but that sounds like no boar I've ever heard, and they sound terrified._ Against his better judgement, he moved aside a few low-hanging branches and ferns and risked a peek in the direction of the horrible sounds. The sun was low in the sky, and what little of its light made it through the forest canopy was only sufficient for him to make out a shape in silhouette, which was fine as no sane person could possibly want to see it any more clearly: a long form, like some huge centipede crossed with a serpent; supported on numerous pairs of spindly legs; and with a long beak full of pointed teeth. More than satisfied with this glimpse, Siproites let the plants fall back and beat a chaotic retreat through the gloomy laurel trees, making no effort to be stealthy: fast seemed much more important. It was always possible that the monster had provided enough distraction that the sailors had neither noticed nor cared about his panicky flight, but for now they were the least of his concerns. _Damn it, I'd even head for the galley myself, if I could remember the way in this light. Better to be heading away from this accursed place even as a slave than-_

That thought was left hanging as his leading foot unexpectedly came down on thin air, his balance went all to Hades, and he tumbled headlong into the large hollow he had completely missed in the darkness and confusion. After a brief but painful period of rolling downhill he came to a tangled halt, clambered awkwardly back to his feet, and now found himself at the edge of a wide clearing, and an even stranger scene than he had just left behind. A large natural pool dominated this glade, both occupied by and surrounded by a host of nude figures, of both sexes, that he initially took for cast bronze and silver statues. That was for the few blissful moments he could persuade himself that their movements and surprised expressions were merely tricks of his overwrought imagination. _But no, they're definitely moving, and staring back at me, which means … Zeus have mercy._ His eyes had settled on the middle of this group of metallic 'nymphs' where a particularly distinctive figure sat in the clear water, her legs to one side in a relaxed posture, while a few of her companions scrubbed her delicately with wooden brushes. He supposed from that posture that she must be their leader, not to mention that considering her height – a good four times that of any human being – it seemed unlikely she was much in the habit of taking orders. Also, she did not seem to be fully naked, although the sections of hard-edged, angular armour that she wore – including what seemed to be a full but visor-less helmet with a moon-shaped crest, an upper-body breastplate, greaves, and wrist guards – closely matched the silver tone of her skin, except for a few pale blue highlights and one curious purple sigil like a cruel, crowned face on the breastplate. There was also a long, slender quiver mounted on her back which helped him to put a name to the proud, cold, red-eyed countenance. That was of no comfort whatsoever. _Artemis … I am so doomed._ The wrath of Zeus's maiden daughter upon all would-be rapists and even mere voyeurs was legendarily terrible, and while being turned into a stag and savaged to death by dogs would have been an ironically fitting end to Siproites' misfortunes, it was not one he could look forward to. Hastily, he averted his eyes from the bathers and flung himself down upon his knees in what he hoped was a sufficiently abject posture, trembling furiously.

"Oh. I see our visitors have finally decided to introduce themselves," declared a voice. From its impressive volume, strange echoing quality, and general air of superior boredom, it was assuredly that of the goddess. "Not _quite_ what I expected. And what, pray, is your function, boy?"

"My … ? I'm sorry … my lady," he just about managed to stammer out, between very rapid and unsatisfying breaths. "I don't under-"

"What do you _do?_ " she clarified, impatiently. "Or did they just bring you along to look pretty? Did I say something wrong?" she asked, indifferently, as he winced at this accidental reminder of Hiram's 'compliments.' "Never mind, anyway. Just answer the question."

"I'm … a hunter," he answered, and was not surprised to hear her laugh, very shortly and derisively. _Small wonder. The goddess of the hunt herself. I must look even more of a fool to her than I did to those pirate scum._ "Well … that's what my father wants me to be, anyway."

"Hmm. Don't take this the wrong way, but I think he's setting himself up for disappointment. What would _you_ be, then, given the choice?"

_His daughter, or better still someone else's._ That was the honest answer, but somehow too absurd and flippant a one to give to a probably offended goddess, so Siproites improvised:

"If I could be anything, I guess … one of the dancers at the temple," he settled for, which seemed suitably reverent and almost as honest, male dancers being few and far between. "I asked if I could be, once … and got a thrashing for it. Not a real man's job, he said."

"Tragic," said a hard, ironic voice with the same distorted, echoing tone as 'Artemis's,' which surprised Siproites enough that he looked up, to see another woman of goddess-worthy dimensions striding purposefully along the edge of the pool, towards him. She had the same silver skin and red eyes as the first goddess, and the same purple insignia, but her armour was distinctive: primarily red and black, with straight-edged wings like huge arrow flights mounted on her back, long metal pipes fixed to the sides of her arms, and a pair of tall, obelisk-like shoulder guards. Her expression was also a lot less mellow than that of her comrade. The smaller, unarmoured figures scurried cautiously out of her way, and a couple that did not quite make it were swatted aside for their pains and sent sprawling in the water. "No matter, though. You want to dance, do you, boy?" she asked, as she came right up to Siproites and pointed her left arm at him in a strange but clearly threatening gesture. "I'll make you dance, all right. You'll be dodging my lasers so fast you'll either be the best dancer on this wretched planet, or you'll have your feet melted out from under you, if you don't tell me everything-"

"I was actually trying to relax, Firetalon, in case you hadn't noticed," pointed out 'Artemis,' lackadaisically. _Firetalon? Not the name of any goddess I've ever heard of. A harpy, perhaps, or a fury? She sure has the temper for it._ Firetalon managed to curb her anger as she turned to address her mistress, although her tone, while respectful, was still very agitated:

"My apologies, ma'am … but this _is_ a matter of urgency. Back on Cybertron we knew how to deal with spies and infiltrators. Lord Straxus would have had that fleshy little creep in the smelting pool as soon as look at him. He should count himself lucky-"

"An infiltrator? This sorry little waif? I don't think he's even a mature specimen. How old are you anyway, human?"

"Err … fifteen winters … Your Highness … Holiness."

"What of it?" asked Firetalon, turning her full, scornful attention back to Siproites. "That means nothing to me, primitive. Why, my spark had been infused into my laser core for less than a thousand astro-seconds before I was deemed fit for military duty. If you mean to tell me that it's been fifteen entire solar orbits of this glorified mudball since you were forged, yet you're not perfectly capable of-"

"Hey, welcome to weirdness," said yet another inhumanly resonant female voice, with a pleasant, good-humoured intonation, almost from behind him. Siproites turned, and his moment of vague reassurance was totally dashed by the appearance of the new arrival. She was not quite as huge as her comrades, her green and black armour was lighter and sleeker, and she possessed no obvious weapons, but her mere countenance was a horror to behold. The upper half of her face was concealed behind a smooth green visor, giving her wide, silver-toothed smile a decidedly eerie quality, and instead of a helmet she was the proud possessor of hair, of a sort: long, thick, segmented metallic locks like huge silver earthworms, with sharp-pointed tips. Mostly, they were hanging loose, but occasionally they would twitch or undulate in a seemingly random, skin-crawling fashion. The word 'gorgon' had no sooner come to Siproites' mind, than he had averted his eyes from the grinning, visored face and gone back into his best quivering and abased posture, although as the hideous monster continued to speak, she certainly did not show the cruelty and suspicion of her ally: "I've explained all this, Firetalon: it's a common organic weakness to take a great deal of time in growing into a fully developed form, which is indeed a tragedy, considering how short their lives are. With all due deference to your paranoia, to suppose that this particular specimen could threaten us-"

" _Respectfully,_ Stryxia," interrupted Firetalon, pointedly and not very respectfully, "you are far too complacent. Even fighting the lowliest of primitives consumes energon, and we are not generously supplied with that. At a rough estimate of five-to-ten million of these flesh creatures, globally speaking, and allowing for the possibilities of massed attack, the recharge rate of our forcefields, our meagre resupply options, the total uselessness of your cybergraft constructs as support troops, and many other factors not in our favour, we would certainly be overwhelmed and terminated, even if the battle was a long and messy one. We cannot allow this creature to carry intel of us back to its own kind. You must see that, Moonshadow," she asked more plaintively, while turning to the goddess in the pool.

"Alarmist as ever, my love, but you are not entirely wrong," conceded Moonshadow, gently nudging her attendants aside and rising to her full, terrifying height, the water level barely reaching over her ankles. "Still, it may not be necessary to terminate him, and there would certainly be no honour in it, assuming his purpose here is innocent. What is your name, child?"

"Si … Siproites … if it please-"

"In all honesty I couldn't care, but it seemed civilised to ask. We saw your ship land, Siproites. We'd assumed you were just going to replenish your supplies and leave, which would have been tolerable. Why then, please tell me, have you decided to linger?"

"That's … my fault … I'm sorry … Your Holiness … I was a slave on that galley … they were taking me to sell in Phoenicia … but I slipped my bonds, I thought I could escape here … didn't mean to transgress, I swear … I didn't know-"

"Hah! And you wanted to kill him," interrupted Stryxia, with a smug tone, to Firetalon. "A rebel slave. A Cybertronian ought to have fellow-feeling with such a one, although you _are_ too young to remember the Quintessons and the Revolution, of course. If you'd had personal experience of the humiliation those bastard biomechanoids put our kind through, you mightn't be so hasty-"

"My humblest apologies for being so young and impetuous and security-conscious, Venerable Mother," sneered Firetalon. "How are you so sure he's even telling the truth, though?"

"I could cerebro-scan him, if I thought it worth the trouble. Of _course_ he's telling the truth. He's obviously terrified, desperate … strangely adorable, but let's not get hung up on that for now. Are there any other slaves on that ship, Siproites?"

"No, gracious lady," he replied, a little more calmly, if no less confused, _but_ _I guess no legend I ever heard said gorgons can't be kind when they want to be._ "The crew are pirates by trade, raiders, but the way I've heard it they've had a really bad season. The coastal towns are so well defended these days. I was out hunting alone. They just kidnapped me to help make up their losses."

"Oh, he's just lovely. Well, I don't care what you do with the others, Firetalon, but I bagsie our little friend here. I can always use another subject for my cybergrafting process." Siproites did not have the vaguest idea what this meant – merely a horrible instinct that it could portend nothing good – while Firetalon grimaced disdainfully.

"Another pet for your collection?" she remarked. "An inexcusable waste of energon and materials, if you ask-"

"I didn't. The refinement of my process could well be crucial to the future success and indeed the survival of our race. If you had the slightest excuse for an imagination in that blockheaded Seeker cranium of yours-"

"Now, now, my little sparklings, play nicely," interrupted Moonshadow, archly. "In case you hadn't noticed, some more guests have arrived, and you're not making the best impression," saying which, she gestured some distance away to the side, from where her two friends were arguing and Siproites was still doing his best to cringe into the earth. Turning his eyes in that direction, he saw a small group of ragged, weary-looking figures standing at the edge of the glade, looking almost as confused and pathetic as he supposed he did. Hiram was among them, clutching his right arm which had sustained what looked like a nasty burn. It was crudely bandaged with strips of cloth, but such flesh as could be seen through the hasty bindings was red, coarse, and glistening, and the sleeve of his tunic on that side was shortened, frayed, and charred at the edges. _The centipede-serpent thing breathes fire?_ he wondered. _Just as well for that bastard its aim isn't much better than mine, though I guess it won't make much difference to him now._ Several of the pirates were now brandishing spears, swords, and axes, and attempting with little success to hold them in threatening postures, while the bosun had unslung his bow and was trying to notch an arrow with trembling fingers: an action which did not escape Firetalon's notice, nor her contempt.

"Oh, _please,_ " she declared, in a tone which would have been well complemented with rolling eyes, had her empty, shining red eyes possessed pupils. "What do you expect to do with that primitive toy? Even if you could shoot the clumsy thing with any degree of accuracy, which I somehow- … Oh," she added, with an impressed note, as the bosun's arrow sailed into her left eye, went all to splinters, and inflicted neither damage nor pain as far as Siproites could see. "Fair play, now. That _was_ an excellent shot. My commendations." Having given her opponent a small, chivalrous bow, she raised her left arm. There was a short, loud sound like a cross between clashing metal and breaking pottery; an intensely bright, pinkish light that blazed from the tube on her arm in a path more straight and true than any arrow; then an acrid smell of burned meat, while the bosun collapsed with a large, black-edged hole right through where his breastbone had been. Most of his shipmates did not even wait for him to finish keeling over before they bolted for the trees, many abandoning their weapons in the process, and within a few moments Siproites was the only living mortal left in the glade. Now wearing a more serious expression, Moonshadow stepped out of the pool and came over to join her colleagues.

"Was that all of them, Siproites?" she asked. "It did not seem like many."

"No, Your Holi-"

"Just 'Leader' will do, or 'my lady' if you want to keep it aristocratic. I appreciate respect, but let's not be silly. So how many of them were there in total, then?"

"Fifty-two, my lady. Some will have stayed with the ship, but there were more than those ones we just saw when they were chasing after me. Maybe they lost some men in the woods or were scattered. There was some sort of horrible monster back there that might-"

"Ah, it looks as if our naughty boys have been annoying that poor mutant Nephrite," announced Stryxia, gleefully if not very enlighteningly. "More fool them, but we can't rely on it to mop them all up. Far too erratic. You might be able to flush them out of cover from above, Firetalon, but messy infantry combat is hardly your thing. Let's hope the Furicons are in an amenable mood," saying which, she raised her left gauntlet to her mouth, a small projection like a large silver needle popped up from the back of her hand, and she continued speaking, seemingly to an unseen presence. "Come in, Ratrod. Are you conscious? Sober? Alive? Over."

" _Hardy fucking har, brainiac,_ " said a harsh, disembodied voice, like a very ill-tempered ghost. " _Just skip the insults and get to the point. For your info, we were actually all set to get loaded on Cutdown's latest batch of waste plasma distillate – got to relieve the boredom somehow – but if you've got some beef with us-_ "

"Nothing like that, and if you're bored, I've a little sport for you. We have fifty-two … make that fifty-one unaltered and unauthorised indigenous humanoids at loose. Not a great threat to us, of course, but they might endanger my cybergrafts, they've some limited potential to commit sabotage, we can't risk them escaping with any knowledge of our operations, and they certainly don't add to the tone of the place. Lady Moonshadow would appreciate you cleaning them up, with as extreme prejudice as you see fit."

" _Copy that. Come on, girls,_ " ordered the phantom voice, now with a note of cruel pleasure. " _Her Nibs needs a spot of pest control._ " There was a brief, very unpleasant outburst of cackling laughter in various voices, followed by a strange, repetitive, sound – if it resembled anything at all, then a small chorus of bronze horns, played underwater, in a five-note rising scale – then some very loud and harsh sounds somewhere between grinding and roaring before the bizarre communication cut to silence, the needle retracted back into Stryxia's hand, and she lowered it with a satisfied smile. From deep within the forest, however, Siproites could now faintly hear those same savage, grating noises. _What beasts of Tartarus did she just summon, I wonder? Actually, maybe I'd rather not know._

"Well, Security Chief, this looks like it's mainly your party now," said Stryxia to Firetalon, genially. "Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." The winged goddess grimaced slightly, then leaped high into the air. When she was several cubits above the ground, Siproites heard that strange five-note sound again, during which Firetalon's body contorted and folded in on itself in a tortuous fashion, soon losing all resemblance to a human being and becoming a blank, angular shape, slightly bird-like with an elongated silver 'beak' and aerodynamic lines, but basically a huge, hovering tetrahedron with some sort of brightly glowing, round-windowed furnace on its rear face. As the furnace brightened, the transformed Firetalon shot off through the sky faster than any bird and was soon lost to sight.

"You know, on reflection, maybe we shouldn't let her and the Furicons have _all_ of the fun," mused Stryxia, then turned to Siproites, who did his best not to look too ill at ease. "Anyway, considering how those slaver scum treated you … Yes, I do believe you're entitled to see them get their just desserts." Before he could think of any way to politely decline this considerate, totally unappealing suggestion, the five notes had played again and Stryxia had copied Firetalon's example, although she finished her transformation in a strikingly different configuration: a smooth, discus-like object with a see-through dome in the centre of its upper surface. Around its outer edge, the metal tendrils that had previously been her 'hair' now hung at equal intervals, like the tentacles of a jellyfish. As he stared in wonder, one of these tendrils extended as fast as a striking snake, coiled around his waist, and lifted him into the air, while the dome on top of the disc hinged upwards. He had only just recovered the presence of mind to scream in protest, when the tendril deposited him in a small alcove beneath the dome, upon a padded seat, and the dome swung shut again, entrapping him. He banged futilely upon it but found it harder and more unyielding than any metal, in spite of its apparent thinness and translucency.

"Calmly now," said Stryxia's voice, seemingly emanating from a small panel in front of him, decorated with glowing gems and curious glyphs. "You're quite safe. I'd hold onto those grips on either side of you, though. This could get a tad bumpy." Having said which, she launched herself vertically into the air, well above the forest canopy, and almost certainly leaving Siproites' stomach back at ground level. She then flew off over the trees, not as fast as Firetalon, but quite fast enough for her unwilling, if now submissively silent passenger. When he had adjusted to the speed and motion as well as he was ever in any danger of doing, he began to take in some of the details of the very uneven battle now raging below. Firetalon was flying back and forth over the forest, occasionally shooting her deadly pink rays down onto the heads of any pirates she spotted and forcing them to flee into more open areas, where things got really unpleasant: some other bizarre vehicles, which he could now identify as the source of the grinding roars he had heard before, were speeding over the open terrain. Unlike the transformed forms of Firetalon and Stryxia, they only seemed to hover a short distance over the ground, and their forms also lacked in elegance, _to say the least …_ Not that he could get a very good sight of them, or even count their numbers given how fast and disorganised they were, but his main impressions were of tangled pipes; mottled, rusted metal; plumes of dirty black smoke; and grotesque asymmetry. Occasionally, they shot out pink rays like Firetalon's, but mostly they just seemed to like colliding with any luckless mariners who crossed their path. One such unfortunate was left alive but crawling feebly after his encounter, although this state of affairs did not last: the ugly metal 'chariot' that had run him down pulled up alongside him, transformed into a giant woman clad in savage, crude armour and wielding a mace that just appeared to be a massive length of pipe with nails fused into it, and began hitting him, heavily, repeatedly, and soon very pointlessly.

"Err, Kludge, I'm pretty sure that one's dead already," declared Stryxia, as they glided near. The mace-wielding giantess looked up at them with a scowl on her copper-coloured, red-eyed, spike-helmeted face as she replied:

"Hey, _I'm_ the battlefield medic in this outfit, Miss Know-It-All. I reckon I know the difference between-"

"Trust me on this, I've studied their anatomy extensively. The live specimens nearly always have much less flat heads than yours."

"Whatever," said Kludge, and kicked the mass of flesh and broken bones that could barely be called a corpse anymore, sending it flying a considerable distance while she transformed back into her 'chariot' form and zoomed off in search of less flattened prey. Between what he was seeing and his motion sickness, Siproites was hard-pressed to resist throwing up all over the transformed goddess's interior – a level of blasphemy for which the possible punishments did not bear thinking of – but he was given a timely, if disturbing distraction by the sound of a woman screaming, at some distance but unmistakably and very urgently.

"Did you hear that?" he asked. "I thought I-"

"I heard," declared Stryxia, seriously, flying in a new direction. The cry was soon repeated from very close by, and Stryxia dipped below the forest canopy, where two figures of ordinary human size were struggling in the shadows. One of them, naked, spread-eagled on the ground, and flailing ineffectually, was a silver-skinned figure like those Siproites had seen at the pool – a young, slight-figured woman – while the other, sword in hand and pinning her down with his legs and free hand, was one of the pirates. He looked up and froze in terror almost as soon as they arrived, but not quickly enough to conceal what his intentions had been. "Ah, now _there's_ a man with his priorities well in order," said Stryxia, with dangerous sarcasm, just before she whipped out a tendril, caught him a vicious blow, and sent him sprawling. His victim quickly climbed to her feet and sprinted away, making good her escape before her dazed would-be rapist had managed to stagger upright again. Stryxia gave him just enough time to recover his bearings and look terrified again before she fired a beam of light at him: not pink, but a cold, pale blue. He screamed in agony as it struck him, but instead of burning a hole in him he merely went still and silent where he stood, while his skin took on a dead, rough, greyish hue. _His eyes, though._ Siproites hoped it was just his imagination, but they seemed to still possess some colour and animation, twitching pathetically within their new stone shell. _He deserved death, but this …_

"Err, are you sure he's dead?" he asked, tentatively. "I thought for a moment-" but the matter was resolved as Stryxia whipped out her tendril again, shattering the 'statue' into a shower of thin grey shards and miscellaneous wet red bits.

"Quite sure," she answered, with a faint note of irritation. "Alright, so there's still a bit of soft centre there … Well, a calcification ray isn't the easiest of devices to perfect, I'll have you know. I'll get it right in the end. Firetalon thinks it's a waste of effort, but she doesn't appreciate the psychological impact of such a weapon. It might help if she actually had a psychology, of co- … Oh," she added, deadpan, as Siproites' restraint finally failed him, and he vomited copiously over his own lap and her interior panels. "Well, I guess it _is_ pretty scary, then. Looks like it'll have to be a quiet night in washing my upholstery after this. Are you frightened of me, Siproites?"

"Um … yes."

"Logical of you, but unnecessary. I promise I won't turn _you_ into stone," she said, but her reassuring tone was undercut with an unspoken 'but' that prevented him from drawing much solace from it.

"Err … thank you, my lady, for your mercy. That's a great rel-"

"No, my dear. I shall turn you into metal. Lovely, living metal, just like all the visitors we had before to whom I took a shine … no pun intended. You understand?" _The shining figures at the pool, their slaves. Then I am never to leave here._ It was more mercy than he had dared to expect, but hard to consider with anything other than a cold, jaded sense of irony. _In Phoenicia I might have escaped, stolen some money, bribed someone to take me back to Crete. Unlikely, but possible. What chance have I of escaping here, and what would I do if I did, after they've changed me into one of those?_ Either from his silence, or perhaps by some concealed 'eye' within the now very smelly compartment, his lack of enthusiasm did not escape Stryxia's notice, as she commented reprovingly: "You know, if you actually _do_ believe we're your goddesses, you should probably be a lot happier about that."

"Forgive me, please. It's not that I'm not … well, kind of, but-"

"I was only teasing, Siproites. Theism isn't a good look on me, anyway. We can leave all that Primus and Unicron guff to witless sparklings and dull, pious Autobots. No, I don't expect you to be jumping with joy over this outcome. It's not for me to say whether your former life was up to much, but whatever it was, it's definitively over, and you can never return to it. I do appreciate how that must feel. However, I hope in a few years your regrets will have passed, and you will see this was all for the best. Well, things seem to be quietening down. Let's see what Moonshadow is up to," she suggested, and soared above the forest canopy again, then higher still, tracing a course towards the most elevated point of the island: a promontory upon which stood some ruins, not dissimilar to the great palace in Knossos, but in total disrepair, the roof long gone and many of the pillars and obelisks broken and worn down to less than half of their original height. As they drew nearer and touched down in the midst of these, Siproites could see that they were decorated all over with strange glyphs, some of them resembling angular, feminine figures, but mostly repeated motifs of triangles and diamonds. Just outside the ruins, at the edge of the cliff, Moonshadow was gazing out to sea. The sun had almost set, but the low orange glow on the horizon was enough to make out the dark shape of the pirates' galley. It was making poor speed – hardly surprising given that several of its oars were no doubt unmanned – but judging from the distance it had already covered, the crew that had remained on board must have decided not to hang around pretty quickly when it became clear that things had turned ugly for their comrades on land.

"Such inspirational courage, is it not?" asked Moonshadow, with an ironic smirk, as she turned to them. "Still, we can't be having with that. Quite apart from our security issues, I've always held that those who fight together should die together." She reached around to her back and unhooked an object that had been tethered to her armour: a silver baton studded with glowing, flashing gems. She pressed one of these, and the baton suddenly extended; thin, curving metal limbs shooting out from both of its ends to form a shallow arc. _A bow? But with no str- … I take that back._ As she pressed another gem, a strand of bright pink light suddenly illuminated from tip to tip, in place of a bowstring. She then reached into her quiver, and drew out a small, grey, arrowhead-shaped object. She tapped it against the side of the bow, whereupon the rest of the arrow magically appeared behind it, made of the same unearthly, glowing pink ichor. She then took her stance, drew the bow in the usual fashion, and let the magical arrow fly, to curiously anticlimactic effect: she had shot both far and wide of her target, the arrow's trajectory, as far as Siproites could judge, destined to strike the water almost a thousand cubits to the side of the ship, and probably as many in front, _unless they row like furies just to catch up with it, and I can't see why they would. I'm saying nothing, but I kind of expected Artemis, or whoever she is, to be a better shot than me._

"Hmm. Not your best, Moonshadow," remarked Stryxia, saving Siproites the trouble of expressing this insolent but accurate sentiment. The senior goddess did not take it amiss, however, and answered with a resigned shrug:

"What can I say? Practice makes perfect, and I've been getting lazy. Still," she said, raising her free hand with her thumb now poised against her middle finger, "when you have access to Cybertronian technology, and possibly with just a smidgen of dirty rotten cheating …"

With a sound like a giant cymbal and a shower of sparks, Moonshadow clicked her fingers. Instead of completing its useless arc, her arrow twisted impossibly in the air, realigned itself, and shot straight for the galley. There was a dull but powerful thud, a warm breeze, and an intensely bright flash, which faded to reveal only disturbed water and burning splinters. With a cruel, satisfied smile, she collapsed her bow and returned it to its holding place.

"As I was saying," she continued, benignly, "who needs skill anyway?"

* * *

Night had fallen but had brought little peace. For all of the goddesses were now assembled in their glade, discussing the invasion and massacre, while Siproites awaited their judgement, though he was under no illusions what it would be. At Stryxia's insistence, he was bathing in the pool, and was inclined to stay there as long as he could, as Firetalon had already vaporised his vomit-stained clothes, and no others appeared to be on offer. Now that all were assembled, he could see that there were five of the Furicons, all of them similarly ill-favoured. Ratrod was the leader and the largest, both taller and heavier-set than her sisters-in-arms, but all proudly flaunted the same savage, random aesthetic of pipes, spikes, dirt, and corrosion, with even their purple sigils looking scuffed and battered. Their demeanour towards him was even more contemptuous than Firetalon's had been – he had no idea what the term 'Earth germ' meant, but he was sure it was nothing complimentary – and it gave him little hope, in spite of Stryxia's reassurance, that he would grow reconciled to his possibly eternal servitude here.

Most of the attendants had now gone elsewhere, but one of them, whom he recognised as the woman the pirate had attempted to rape, slipped into the pool and came over to him, carrying a small earthen jar of wild cherries. In spite of his distaste for what was to inevitably come, he could not help but acknowledge that she was both very beautiful and as remarkably animated as her metallic mistresses, her form and face both fluid and expressive. He idly wondered if he was more like her, would he find the thought of eternity here easier to bear? _A stupid idea, though. I'm me, and truth be told, I'm not sure I'm wild about even a normal lifetime of that, here or anywhere._ As the silver woman approached him, she held out the bowl and smiled.

"I thought you might need these," she offered. Her instinct was not wrong – the pirates had been less than generous hosts – and he accepted the fruit with a grateful nod. "My name is Brighteye. It was given to me by the Decepticons … the goddesses. They will give you a new name too, and you will not need those for long," she said, gesturing to the cherries. "We eat mostly the nectar they call 'energon' now. It is better for us. I saw you riding in Stryxia's altmode, by the way. I wanted to thank you both. They have made us immortal, you see, but not strong like them. It would not have ended well for me. I … I only hope you will be happy with us," she added, with concern.

"Are you, Brighteye?" he asked, sadly, but willing to entertain the possibility.

"Yes … mostly. They have been kind to us … well, not the Furicons, but they are only soldiers. The Three are gracious mistresses, you will see."

"Firetalon?"

"She is just very cautious. When you know her better-"

"Move aside, please, Brighteye," said Stryxia, as she left the group of 'Decepticons' and came over to them. "I need space to scan. You stay there, Siproites," she added, as he made to follow his new shiny friend. " _You're_ the scanee … if that's a real word. Before we commence, you may as well know we've successfully accounted for all fifty-two of those degenerates, though we had to resort to DNA testing. Neither Moonshadow nor the Furicons were considerate enough to leave most of their targets in one piece for a clean headcount … look who's talking," she added, self-consciously. "Your help was small, perforce, but invaluable in its way. We appreciate it, and now it's time for your conversion. Hold still," she ordered, then lightly touched her visor. It slid upwards, revealing not the two red eyes he had expected to see, but a whole cluster of eyes of wildly different colours and sizes, causing him to flinch in irrepressible disgust, though fortunately she took no offence at it. "Yes, a strange sight for you, I'm sure, but don't be afraid. I mean, what's the fun of life if you don't mod your own ocular sensors every now and again? I just need to remember which of these is the cerebro-scanner … Ah yes," she declared, whereupon a wide, soft, red beam emanated from one of the glowing points, briefly dazzling Siproites but causing him no worse harm. After a few seconds she extinguished the beam, and he could make out her expression again. Not that her surreal cluster of eyes made it particularly readable, but her smile seemed both thoughtful and pleased.

"Hmm … no serious mental instabilities, but marked anomalies in the bed nucleus of the stria terminalis," she announced, incomprehensibly. "A ninety-nine percent likelihood of pronounced gender dysphoria. Well now, what do you think of that, eh, Hardtail?" she asked one of the Furicons, who scowled with displeasure before answering. Siproites could not help but notice, with discomfort, that her voice was deeper than those of her comrades, although her form was just as feminine, and grotesque:

"Hey, don't go comparing me to some puny fleshling just because … Okay, so they can get it too. I could have told you _that_ just by looking at the little squirt, never mind the brain scan. Too bad for him … her, though. I guess there's fuck all they can do about it with their lousy tech."

"True, but from _my_ point of view, it's an asset. Siproites, dear," she said, turning back to him. "Do you remember that little chat we had, when I said I hoped you'd have no regrets about coming here in a few years or so?"

"Yes, my lady," he answered, respectfully, "and I'm sorry if I seemed ungrateful. I swear I'll do my best-"

"Yes, never mind that. I just wanted to say … well, let's keep a few surprises, but suffice it to say I don't think it's actually going to take that long at all … my daughter."

* * *

_And now, in this episode's edition of Gratuitous OC Tech Spec …_

Decepticon (Splinter faction) – Stryxia

Function – Cyberbiologist

"I just love making new friends. Won't you be my raw materials?"

Compassionate by Decepticon standards, but her benevolence masks a deadly arrogance and self-assurance that she knows what is best for all 'inferior' lifeforms, and she is not overly concerned with obtaining their consent when she is in a 'helping' mood. In her defence, she certainly believes in putting herself through the same rigours she inflicts on others, being one of the most heavily self-modded of all Transformers. In her Earth-reconfigured altmode she can achieve a speed of 110mph for a range of 3 miles. Disdains hand weapons but makes up for this with her mods. Her multiple extra 'eyes' include numerous scanning devices and directed-energy weapons, from boring photon beams to her signature (if rarely reliable) calcification ray. Her 'dreadlocks' also serve as close-quarter weapons, and can be used as whips, restraints, and electric shock batons.

Strength – 5

Intelligence – 10

Speed – 7

Endurance – 4

Rank – 8

Courage – 8

Firepower – 7

Skill – 9


	2. Love and Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distraught and disillusioned following Rose's 'death,' Pearl can only look upon her future with dread and weariness. Megatron, classy as ever, takes the opportunity to gloat over her despair, but both will soon find they have more pressing worries at hand ...

**"It's over … isn't it?"**

_Beach City, Delmarva, United States, 2,000 CE._

Pearl sat alone on the sands, in the shade of one of the Crystal Temple statue's colossal, weather-worn, and long-detached stone hands, staring listlessly out to sea. In a thoroughly ironic and unsatisfying sense, the inanimate company of this broken effigy – _Obsidian, the fusion we will never form again,_ as she reflected – was as close as she could now ever be to Rose Quartz. Having finally, agonisingly abandoned the futile hope that her beloved leader had merely retreated into her gem and would soon reform as beautiful and glorious as ever, separating from this organic shell of a 'baby' and letting it go about its own devices, this was certainly preferable to spending more time than necessary around Greg and Steven, _increasingly inevitable though that will be. I'll have to get used to the situation sooner or later – looking after Rose's 'son' is now the only duty I can perform for her – but how long it's going to take me to reconcile I dread to think._

_Well, I suppose I could try to see today as a rehearsal for that,_ she thought, although with bitter irony rather than conviction. _Chaperoning Obsidian and her mother is a form of 'babysitting,' after all. Oh, why did they have to give her that wretched name?_ She knew full well, of course, that Stormbird had only chosen it to honour the Gems, for their part in convincing the Autobots not to treat her as an enemy after Megatron had 'upgraded' her into a Decepticon Seeker, slightly out of gratitude for the intel she had freely given him, but mainly because she had been no fun to bully as a human. _We were the closest thing she had to friends at the time, and she couldn't have foreseen this tragedy any more than I could, but it still feels like everyone and everything's conspiring to rub my face in it, remind me of everything that can never be. Until a few days ago I was a knight, a lover, or at least so I believed, but now what am I? A knight without her liege or even any real cause, a lover without her beloved, petty tasks like this the only shred of purpose left, not to mention a terrorist and an exile as far as my own people are concerned, and an outsider in this world. Well, I suppose Stormbird can at least empathise with that. I can also console myself that at least we don't have to put up with Obsidian's father anymore._

It had been two years now since Soundwave and Stormbird, once lovers, had been together. Megatron had quickly regretted recruiting a former human into his army, and a principled one at that, but in a rare show of level-headedness he had made the best of a bad lot by keeping Stormbird mostly well away from his morally repugnant front-line activities and allowing her to work in her own field, as an engineer on Cybertron, with Soundwave as her supervisor. That had worked surprisingly well for all concerned. Stormbird was able to bury herself in her work and keep telling herself that her efforts towards making Cybertron energy self-sufficient would help to move the Decepticons away from their lives of piracy, conquest, and Gem-like parasitism on weaker but resource-rich worlds. Megatron, for his part, praised her efforts, encouraged her hopeful delusions, and diverted most of her new, ethically-sourced energon stocks into arms manufacture, new battlecruisers, and super-weapons research, in preparation for a devastating war of piracy, conquest, and parasitism, or at least that was Obsidian's opinion, as well as all of her fellow Autobots, and Pearl saw no reason to doubt it. _Indeed, I could well call Megatron a 'real diamond,' and not in the complimentary Earth sense._ As for Soundwave, for a time he and Stormbird had connected deeply, even to the extent of having a daughter by natural means: apparently a rare event among their kind involving life-spark fission, following a blending of essences rather akin to Gem fusion, _not that I fully grasp the physics, although it is at least a lot less gruesome to contemplate than human reproduction._ They had even entertained vague hopes of reforming the Decepticons into something more akin to the rebellious but honourable movement they had once been, but that had not lasted. Aeons of corruption were not so easily to be undone, and whether out of guilt, sense of obligation, tribal loyalty, mere force of habit, or a toxic mix of them, Soundwave had soon drifted back into his role as Megatron's ever-reliable yes-man, and would not hear the slightest criticism of him, to Stormbird's bitter disappointment.

The final straw had been when Soundwave had sent their daughter encrypted messages over Teletraan I, in blatant violation of the strict conditions they had agreed with the Autobot 'midwives' who had delivered and raised her. In even greater violation, he had attempted to persuade Obsidian that the Autobot cause was lost and encouraged her to defect to the Decepticons. That stunt had cost Soundwave his own right to see her again, and although Optimus Prime had deemed Stormbird blameless, she had been so outraged at this betrayal that she had broken off their relationship, _and not before time. Why she doesn't just defect herself … if only it was that easy,_ Pearl reflected, sadly. _She's nothing but a criminal to her former people, and the Autobots feel bound to respect human laws, even the really stupid ones, so they'd be unlikely to protect her. It's no easy decision, breaking all ties and choosing to live as a pariah, and I somehow doubt I make a great advertisement for-_

"Hey, Pearl," said Garnet's voice, from very near at hand, although Pearl had not noticed anyone approaching. _So much for my sentry skills, then. A fine presage of things to come …_ The tone was sympathetic, though, and as she rose to her feet and turned to face her comrades, she saw concern written in their faces, and the echo of her own desolation. _They feel the loss too, even if it could never be as deeply. Did anyone – even the Diamonds – know her as well as I did?_ Garnet had even dematerialised her shades for once, and sorrow and understanding radiated from all three of her colour-mismatched eyes. "You sure you'll be okay by yourself?" she continued. "We can always leave the maintenance checks until later if you'd rather not be left alone." Pearl merely shook her head and gave a very tight half-smile by way of refusal, partly because she actually did prefer to be alone but did not care to say it, and partly to repress the desire to laugh ironically. _Maintenance checks … I forgot, we're janitors as well as babysitters, perpetually cleaning up the mess our wretched race left on this planet, most probably for centuries to come. Did Rose even have a long-term plan for that, or did she just tire of it? I could empathise. One might almost be tempted to take the same exit to oblivion, were the physical necessities not so disgusting._ "Fair enough, then, but don't hesitate to use the warp whistle if you need to call us back … for anything."

"What are we checking today anyway?" asked Amethyst, her voice almost as listless as Pearl's thoughts. " _Pleeease_ tell me you're heard of a Gem monster somewhere, Garnet. It feels like ages since I last summoned my whip for anything more exciting than smashing up dumpsters … and even _I've_ gotta admit, the stink in town these days is a bit much. Some real action would suit me just fine."

"I'm afraid it's not your lucky day, then," replied Garnet. "Just routine stuff, I'm afraid. The Lunar Sea Spire was looking a little ropey the last time we were there. I want to see how it's doing now, maybe make some estimates on how long we've got to come up with a plan for it. Also, it's been _way_ too long since we last checked on the integrity of the Geode. No reason to suppose it's failing, but I don't even want to think about what would happen to the Earth if it ever did. While I remember it, we should also make sure the wreckage of Pink Diamond's palanquin is still nice and secure from the local humans … though on reflection, I'm kind of tempted to just smash the thing to bits and let Amethyst have the junk for her room, if she likes," she suggested, to which Amethyst merely gave a non-committal shrug. "I've never liked that it's so near the human roads, it certainly serves no purpose now, and I can't say _I've_ any nice memories connected with the thing. Better all round if-"

"No!" interrupted Pearl, all-too-candidly, instantly earning looks of amazement. _Not the palanquin. There's so little left to remember her by … but I can't tell them that, literally._ "Not yet, please. It's … symbolic of the rebellion for me. Even of Rose, in its way," she hastily improvised, albeit in perfect, selective honesty. "Maybe just strip out its controls and motive units? It's not as if the humans could do much with just the hull."

"Of course," said Garnet, slightly confused but still sympathetic. "You all set, Amethyst?"

"Raring to go, dude," answered Amethyst, apathetically. "Catch you later, Pearl. Say hi to Stormy and little Obsidian for me." Pearl gave a very slight nod of affirmation, then the other two Gems turned and headed towards the entrance cave of the temple. They ascended the shallow, multifaceted dais of the warp pad, then promptly vanished in a brilliant, though short-lived column of light, leaving Pearl with only the company of her morbid thoughts again, although she took greater care to stay alert.

A few minutes passed before she spied two dark, airborne dots approaching from the south, at first distant from each other, but their paths converging as they neared the beach. Their flight was swift, and it was not long before she was able to distinguish their forms. The larger of them was a human-style military aircraft, black with purple details, including the cruel-looking Decepticon sigil. The other, also black, though bearing the much friendlier red Autobot sigil, was a great metallic condor, the pattern of its 'feathers' depicted on its flat, mechanical wings in intricate golden inlays. When Obsidian had first been brought online, on Cybertron, her Autobot guardians had engineered her with a land-based altmode, but when she was transferred to Autobot HQ on Earth and given the option to pick a form more in keeping with the planet, she had eagerly asked Teletraan I to give her a mode capable of flight. That had made some of the Earth Autobots deeply suspicious of her, seeing it as perhaps just the start of her 'Decepticon nature' expressing itself, _which only goes to show how petty and foolish even the good and brave can be, when the fancy takes them. We ought to know …_ Thankfully, Optimus Prime had treated these insinuations to as little respect as they deserved and allowed Obsidian's actions to speak for themselves, which they had done commendably, to the extent that she was no longer even required to bring an Autobot chaperone on these supervised visits, _thank the stars. If I never have to see that surly, paranoid tin can Cliffjumper ever again … What in the name of Homeworld?_ The aircraft, somewhat the quicker of the two mechs, was now low over Beach City itself; low enough that its slipstream ruffled trees, scattered the spilled contents of the town's various bisected dumpsters, and no doubt did little for the citizens' morale. _That's not like Stormbird. Decepticon or not, she's always so considerate and- … This doesn't look at all good._ The plane's cockpit windshield had opened slightly, ejecting a small, angular object of grey metal. _Some human weapon … a handgun? Or possibly not,_ she decided, as the gun started to both increase in size and change shape, its handgrip dividing to form legs; its action twisting and splitting to form a broad, powerful torso and arms; its barrel folding up behind its new back where it rested like an archer's quiver; and its tang planting itself on the summit of this new body to form a helmeted head with a grey, red-eyed face, harsh and humourless. As the transformation completed, the figure achieved its full height, close to twenty feet, and continued descending in a steady glide towards the beach, while the aircraft closed its windshield, banked east, flew a short distance over the ocean, then vanished in a flash of light, much as Garnet and Amethyst had just done. _They, however, did it discreetly,_ thought Pearl, her grave displeasure turning to anger as she noticed that the Decepticon Seeker had been bearing down upon a small fishing boat before it had teleported away. Although the boat and its sole occupant – _Vidalia's husband, I seem to recall. Yellow-something-or-other_ – had survived this sadistic excuse for a joke, the water had been churned up badly by the slipstream, and she saw the poor man bailing water from his pitching vessel while cursing incoherently, although very loudly. _Small wonder,_ she empathised, furiously, while striding over the sands to where Megatron now stood, leaning against the cliff face with a decidedly bored and haughty posture. As she approached him, she summoned her spear in readiness. _Millions of years old, yet so cruel, petty, and immature they could bring a tear to an Aquamarine's eye. Seriously, Stormbird's going to have to detach herself from these degenerates sooner or later, or my respect for her is likely to-_

"You can dispense with your holographic toys," Megatron greeted her, contemptuously. "To coin a distasteful phrase, I come in peace. See? No fusion cannon," he declared, showing her the empty weapon mounting on his right arm. "Skywarp will amuse himself in the vicinity – though not too nearby – for thirty minutes, then teleport back and retrieve me. I deem that sufficient time to conclude my business."

"You've no business to be here at all!" replied Pearl, brandishing her spear and looking as intimidating as she possibly could, given that her opponent was almost four times taller than her, fully armoured, and conspicuously unimpressed. "This is in gross violation-"

"Hysterical as ever, I see. Let me assure you, it will not be a repeat occasion … though I would sooner be declaring all this to Rose Quartz herself rather than her lackey. _She_ at least qualifies as a worthy adversary. Perhaps you should fetch her for me … or perhaps you can't," he added, with a nasty, insightful smile, as she totally failed to repress the emotion in her expression. "I know the look of grief well enough. So, your leader is no longer with us, then? My commiserations. Well, that at least deprives Prime of a strong potential ally. The rest of you animate baubles couldn't organise an overcharging orgy in a high-performance energon refinery. I imagine you'll fall like cyberflies without her."

"Don't you count on it for a second," said Pearl, forcing far more confidence into her voice than she felt, but only causing Megatron's hateful smirk to intensify. She was relieved that Obsidian chose that moment to join them, touching down on the sand a few metres away while transforming into her robot mode: a sleek, black feminine form with golden hands and lower legs, her feet still resembling talons. Her wings were folded over her back like a long cape of very shiny and stiffened feathers, and the top section of her bird head and beak sat atop her humanoid head like some Aztec helmet. She was a good six feet shorter than the Decepticon Leader, and unarmed, but carried herself with dignity in spite of the circumstances.

"Hi Pearl, hi mom," she greeted Megatron, utterly deadpan. "Wow, you're sure looking buff and nasty today. I'd give up the diet if I were you. It's doing you no favours." Megatron smiled at the remark, but it was a purely cold, cynical gesture, without a shred of mirth.

"Ah, that Earthy Autobot sense of humour," he mused, with extremely false pleasantness. "Already I begin to see why you're such a disappointment to your poor father."

"If you've just come here to upset people, then might I suggest you take your twisted excuse for a personality off this beach before-" began Pearl, before Obsidian gently but firmly interrupted her, for which she was not ungrateful. _There were quite a few ways of concluding that threat, but none of them particularly plausible._

"It's okay, Pearl," she reassured her, while staring fixedly at Megatron. "I can take care of myself, and I couldn't give a damn what _he_ thinks of me. Sorry to hear that about dad, though. Mind you, I can't say _I_ was thrilled when he felt the need to pull all of that Darth Vader crap on me. 'Your friends are doomed, give yourself over to the dark side, my daughter,' etcetera, though I guess he's got the voice for it, to be fair. Still, he's got no-one but himself to blame for not being able to see me these days. I've really missed him, though. Heck, we had lots of things in common: we both love flying, music, mechanimals. Just a shame about the politics. So why isn't mom here, then? Have you terminated her at last?"

"As of yet, Stormbird is still of use to me," answered Megatron, with shameless cynicism. "Credit where it's due: her efforts have certainly accelerated the rebuilding of Cybertron and the imminent annihilation of your Autobot friends. Of course, when she is no longer of any-"

"Hah! Lie. Sorry, buddy," said Obsidian, while Megatron scowled in annoyance. "Didn't dad tell you I take after him? Not completely: I can't read minds per se, but I _do_ know if someone's bullshitting me, and that was bang in the ballpark, like just now when you said I'm a huge disappointment to dad. Nice try, though."

"Hmm, one wonders where you acquired this colourful diction," remarked Megatron, his haughty tone somewhat reduced to an evasive grumble. "Not from your mother, I think. Whatever our differences, I've always found Stormbird rather well-spoken. As for Soundwave-"

"Talks like a ZX Spectrum on Valium, I know. Not sure, really," she admitted, with a shrug. "There's a bit of Bumblebee in there, a bit of Chromia, some Ironhide, probably way too much Earth TV … Anyway, don't try and change the subject. I think I know why you won't kill mom: you can't bring yourself to kill one of the few people left who doesn't think you're a total unmitigated bastard, including most of your own troops," she guessed, rather accurately to judge from the even deeper displeasure this wrought on his face. "I was seriously bad-mouthing you one day, see – just like normal people do – and she insisted on telling me about this book of yours she'd once read, just to prove that you weren't _complete_ trash, or at least you didn't used to be. _Peace Through Tyranny_ , I think she called it. Something about how on ancient Cybertron the Autobot High Council got panicky 'cos they thought the Decepticons who came back from the wars were going to rebel, so they came up with a plan to summon them all to Iacon for 'special maintenance' which actually meant reformatting them, taking away all their powers, and wiping their identities … then you exposed the plan and boy, did they _ever_ rebel. I asked Prime, and he admitted there was some truth in it, but he said he didn't believe for an instant you were acting out of genuine care for your own people: he just thought you saw it as a golden opportunity for power. Me though, I don't know what to think. Care to comment? I'm open-minded, plus I'll know at once if you're pulling a fast one on me."

"In that case, I shall reply with 'no comment' and not ruin your suspense," he answered, very sulkily, to Pearl's mind. "Still, if you must know, then I admit that your mother's naivete, though somewhat irritating, is amusing enough in its way that even I would find it churlish to terminate her. Stormbird has her virtues, valuable if limited … and to be brutally honest, Starscream and the Insecticons come _far_ higher on my 'eliminate when convenient' list. Besides, I have not given up all hope of making something more of her. I trust you heard that I finally had her blooded in her last Earth deployment," he added, the vicious, insinuating glee back in his voice with a vengeance. "Dear, sweet, pacifistic Stormbird murdered no less than fourteen helpless humans – allies of this nation's government, no less – even as they pleaded for mercy, or perhaps she chose not to confide that in-"

"Oh, she told me, alright," declared Obsidian, her tone now angry and shaken. "You sent her and Thundercracker to raid oil wells in some Sub-Saharan hellhole where the CIA had just helped a gang of bloodthirsty fascists overthrow the government, right? Even luckier for _you_ , they arrived just in time to see some of those brave boys trashing a girls' school and gloating about how they were going to sell the kids as sex slaves, and mom reacted as most people with a heart probably _would_ react if they'd had disintegrating plasma guns bolted to their arms at that moment … and for your information, she also confessed that she's been having horrible flashbacks about it ever since. If you expect me to think less of her because-"

"By no means, but you _are_ disturbed. I don't require even your sub-standard telepathy to inform me of that, and much as I appreciate the information, I am not at all worried for Stormbird. Her flashbacks will ease, and the _next_ time she kills, they will ease even more quickly. But even if I should fail to make a fully-fledged, cold-blooded killer of her, what matter? She is already a terrorist and an outcast in the eyes of her former people. I gather from Soundwave that she cannot even visit her human relations anymore, for fear of implicating them, hence why you've taken to having these delightful little family reunions in this ridiculous locale," he added, with a lackadaisical gesture towards the Crystal Temple and Obsidian's massive stone namesake, "and that brings me neatly to the only real purpose of this visit. For both your parents' sake, indeed, it is high time I put an end to these meetings. They have generated no useful intel, and I don't suppose Prime cares for his troops having divided loyalties any more than I do, so you could say I'm doing everyone a favour. That said, and with all due lack of enthusiasm – but I _did_ promise your father I would extend the offer – if you now wish to pledge your loyalty to the Decepticon cause and accompany me away from here, then I am prepared-"

"Go get fucked," answered Obsidian, defiantly but so sadly that Pearl was not surprised to see Megatron's repulsive smirk intensify. _I take it back. Even the Diamonds acted out of a warped sense of duty. If this mechanised mass of entitlement ever felt a flicker of duty, he'd probably panic and send his brain back to the tech store for debugging._ For whatever the gesture was worth, she drew a second spear from her gemstone and intensified her own hostile stance. _Not that we need a war on our own doorstep … though I can't say I feel I've much to lose, and it might be worth it just to wipe that look off his evil face._ Her anger was not ameliorated by the short, derisive laugh he gave before replying:

"The parley is over, I take it? It is well. I would have all my followers focused on the future, and centuries from now, when humans are extinct or at best a mere zoological curiosity within our glorious empire, your mother will have forgotten that she was ever anything other than a Decepticon, with all that entails. Isn't that nice for her? I suggest you be happy for her, as _you_ do not have a future. Nor you, I fear," he added, for Pearl's benefit. "Very selfish of Rose, really, to die without leaving you and your fellow vagrant pebbles with a proper exit strategy from what will soon be _my_ planet, but we can save that battle for another day. For now, I have far more important matters to-"

He was interrupted not by words, on this occasion, but by the sound of an engine revving, powerfully if not exactly smoothly. _Not Greg's van, surely, unless he's taken to running it on a mixture of rocket fuel and broken glass, and I'm fairly confident even he couldn't have that little sense._ The sound repeated, only now it was a chorus, and coming from two sides. Looking along both stretches of the beach, Pearl saw a small group of vehicles flanking them, _in what, if I was the alarmist type, I'd have to call a pincer movement. Just when you think the day can't get any worse …_ There were six vehicles in total: one customised sports car, one panel truck, and four motorbikes. Other than the car – which was sleek and shiny, with black and green bodywork and a gleaming silver engine block from which a profusion of pipes trailed like metallic snakes – they were all very battered and ugly-looking, and crudely 'decorated' with spikes, chains, oversized exhausts, and a mounted turret gun in the case of the panel truck. They were holding position several metres away on both sides, while continuing to rev their engines, and although they were coming no closer yet, their whole posture radiated threat. _Treachery. I should have known it_ , thought Pearl, with both fury and self-reproach, but as she turned to Megatron she was stunned to see only surprise and outrage in his expression.

"An Autobot ambush, then," he declared, while glaring at Obsidian. "You were hoping to make your mother defect by force, I suppose? So much for Prime's famous dedication to honour and self-determi-"

"Err, you might want to check out the insignias before slinging mud," cut in Obsidian, acidly. Looking more intently, Pearl could now distinguish the Decepticon sigils stamped on each of the vehicles, although in a few cases they were so worn and dirty as to be almost unrecognisable. This revelation did not seem to lift Megatron's morale in the slightest, but he drew himself up and made a commendable, if not entirely convincing effort at sounding confident and authoritative:

"I am Lord Megatron of Tarn, rightful Leader of all Decepticons," he announced. "You are newly arrived on Earth, I assume? Then you are welcome, but you will place yourself at once under my command. I require absolute-" but before he could complete the sentence, a huge, sarcastic "Oooooooooo" went up from the new arrivals, shortly followed by some very unpleasant sniggering.

"Well, they sound impressed," remarked Pearl, relishing his humiliation, though empathising with his fear. _Now I really do wish I'd asked the others to stay. This would be the perfect time for Obsid- … for Alexandrite to shine._

"Not the best result, I grant you, but since _some_ people can't seem to be bothered with defending their own base, it seemed expedient to try," Megatron snapped back at her. Pearl sighed resignedly and took a few purposeful steps towards the line of vehicles that contained the sports car, as it seemed natural that the only clean one would be the leader.

"Whoever you are, you're trespassing on hallowed ground," she declared, sternly. "This temple is sacred to the memory of Rose Quartz, leader of the Crystal Gems. I must respectfully insist-"

"Butt out, Tinkerbell," replied the panel truck, in a voice no more melodic than the strenuous grinding of its engine. "This don't concern-"

"Actually, it _might_ ," interrupted the sports car, its voice not exactly friendly, but positively urbane by contrast. It then transformed, unfolding into the general shape of an armoured female form, while its engine block realigned to reveal a half-visored face, and its mass of exhaust pipes rearranged themselves into a thick, twitching, Medusa-esque 'coiffure.' "Pearl, I take it? A pleasure to see you again. I do regret the circumstances, but there's no help for those. I'm afraid that-"

"Sorry, but … have we _met_?" asked Pearl, incredulously. The robot's face actually fell a little at this question, making Pearl feel, however absurdly, deficient in her manners.

"Oh … Well, I suppose we didn't actually meet to talk," she answered, philosophically, "and I might have modded my face just a few times since then. New altmode, new hairdo, of course. Still, I'd hoped not to be the girl nobody rememb-"

"Stryxia," said Megatron, the swagger now completely drained from both his voice and demeanour. The female Decepticon smiled widely at being recognised, but both the smile and the exaggeratedly cheerful voice she then replied in were dangerously absent of any warmth:

"Ah, thank you, that man! I know it's been a fair few aeons, but I was beginning to worry I was totally forgettable. Of course, I remember _you_ very well, Megatron, though I hadn't expected to see you here. Where's Stormbird, then? I'd rather counted on meeting-"

"Who gives a shit?" asked one of the motorbikes, while transforming into another female-figured robot; her metallic skin tarnished and dirty, her wire-and-cable 'hair' matted and greasy, and wielding a gun that looked like a botched plumbing job. "We've got two out of three targets, _and_ Lord Sleazebag here as a happy bonus. What's one small fish when you've got a whole oxide shark wriggling on the line?"

"That particular fish meant a lot to me, Hardtail, but you've a point," conceded Stryxia, reluctantly. "All things considered it might be best to just take what's on offer. Transform, the rest of you, and we'll get this over and done with." The remaining vehicles shape-shifted into their robot forms, all as filthy and uncouth-looking as those of their comrade, and brandishing an assortment of improvised-looking but horrible armaments including crude melee weapons; a pair of saw-toothed chakrams made of detached motorbike wheels; and what looked like a giant, rusty Taser that one of their number – a slender, haughty-looking woman with a Nefertiti-style metal headdress and sharpened teeth – was sporting in place of her left forearm. When they were all fully transformed, they began to converge, slowly and menacingly, upon Pearl and her 'guests.'

"Not friends of yours, then?" Obsidian asked Megatron, in a half-whispered tone.

"Well observed," he answered, bitterly. "Tell me, Autobot: how would you feel about me transforming into my altmode, and then you using me to blast a way out of here?"

"I'd be weirdly cool with that," she answered, changing her stance in readiness, and it took a little over a second for Megatron to backflip into her waiting hand while twisting and compressing back into his pistol form, but that was a second too long.

"Cutdown!" barked the ex-panel truck: now a huge metallic woman with the build of a quartz soldier; bulky, corrugated armour; a 'mohawk' made of broken pipes; and a vicious-looking battle axe with a notched blade. The command had been intended for the wielder of the chakrams – a small figure by their standards, only between seven and eight feet tall – but a savage enough sight in her ensemble of pipe armour and spikes, and she was not slow to obey, throwing both of her bladed wheels almost in the same moment that the order was given, and very accurately. Pearl managed to deflect one of them with her spear, but the other got past her guard, twisted in its flight path, and smashed into Obsidian's right hand just as Megatron had finished transforming, scattering sparks and shrapnel. With a shriek of pain, Obsidian collapsed to her knees and dropped the pistol, her right hand now trailing wires and missing its three middle fingers. Impressively, she made a pained effort to recover her 'weapon,' such as it was, with her left hand, but the woman with the axe put paid to that, sending her sprawling with a sliding tackle, then catching her in an armlock, while holding her blade to her neck.

"Uh-uh, kid. Don't try anything stupid," she warned Obsidian, less cruelly than Pearl might have expected, but very insistently. "You might think my axe looks pretty skanky, but the blade edge is damn near monoatomic. Slice through you cleaner than any laser, that will. That warning goes double for _you_ , mate," she added, with more overt hostility, as Megatron started transforming back into robot mode. He was about three-quarters done when another of the Decepticons – a woman with a lanky, angular figure; a handlebar helmet; and a huge length of nail-studded pipe – came up to him and started hitting him while giggling dementedly, in spite of his dazed and increasingly feeble efforts to crawl away. Much as Pearl detested the Decepticon Leader, this ugly spectacle was too much for her.

"Stop that! And release them both!" she ordered, both of her spears held ready for action. "You've no right to desecrate-"

"Oh, give it a rest, Sparkles," said Hardtail, and emphasised the comeback by squeezing her trigger and unleashing a blizzard of jagged metal flechettes. Pearl reacted by interposing both of her spears and twirling them rapidly, like a majorette's batons, only with far more shrapnely results. Sparks and chips flew off the cliff face, the sand was churned up, and the three unoccupied Decepticons all dived for cover, until one of them – she of the Egyptian-style headdress and the dubious prosthetic forearm – expressed her displeasure:

"Stop firing, you stupid bitch! If you're _that_ desperate for battle-scars, I'll be more than happy … Thank you," she added, ironically, as Hardtail ceased fire with a surly expression. With what might have been intended as a charming smile, the other speaker uncovered her face, got back to her feet, and turned her attention to Pearl. "Really now, you see what I have to put up with? I'm Twinshock, by the way. Delighted to meet you, Pearl. I've never met a Gem before, but I'm _impressed_. You're _fast_ , you know?"

"Why, thank you," replied Pearl, confused, but always ready to reciprocate politeness. "I like to think I've developed a style that plays to my strengths. Of course, back on Homeworld a Pearl isn't meant to have any combat style at all, but given my disadvantages-"

"You've done very well, indeed. But tell me, Pearl: are you faster than lightning?"

Too late, Pearl heard the low hum that the casual conversation had concealed and felt the static electricity building in the air. Instinctively, she raised her weapons, but that proved of no help at all: as the bolt of lightning arced off Twinshock's arm, it jumped immediately to the tips of the spears and coursed down their shafts, and into Pearl's holographic body, overcharging and disrupting it so quickly she did not even have the chance to feel any pain. _Well, I suppose that at least was considera-_ she just had time to think, as her consciousness retreated into her Gem and everything faded to white.

* * *

_And now, in this episode's special edition of Gratuitous OC Tech Specs …_

**The Furicons**

Decepticon (Splinter faction) – Ratrod

Function – Furicon sergeant

"There's no 'I' in team. Our enemies don't do so well for ocular sensors either."

This battle-scarred veteran of the Cybertronian Revolution is the founding member of the Furicons, and the strongest and most intelligent of them. She is also – to her great but rarely-confessed shame – the slowest. Understanding this, her comrades have worked hard to evolve the group's close-knit, formation-based fighting style, so that no-one need feel left out of the carnage. Her insecurities can make her a bit of a bully on occasion, but her teammates know there is no malice in it, which is a lot more than her opponents can say. Fiercely loyal to Lady Moonshadow. Wields a nanomaterial axe and twin acid mortars.

Strength – 9

Intelligence – 9

Speed – 3

Endurance – 9

Rank – 5

Courage – 8

Firepower – 7

Skill – 5

* * *

Decepticon (Splinter faction) – Kludge

Function – Alleged medic

"I can make it pretty, or I can make it efficient … Actually, I tell a lie, but I might manage badass."

An ex-Junkion, and a very valuable recruit of whom Ratrod is prodigiously proud, considering her as true a Decepticon as any. Like many of her former race, Kludge can improvise even major repairs under the worst of conditions, somehow or other scavenging the components to bring damaged or even near-destroyed mechs back from the brink of death. Her patients, alas, do not always appreciate the twisted creativity she likes to bring to these repair jobs (hence her exile from her homeworld) … Reckless, doesn't really get ranged weapons, but definitely an (unstable) asset. Since she left the Junkion world millions of years ago and has never been back, she has mercifully avoided her people's habit of incessantly quoting Earth TV transmissions, though she does enjoy a good body horror film whenever she gets the chance to wind down.

Strength – 7

Intelligence – 8

Speed – 6

Endurance – 6

Rank – 4

Courage – 7

Firepower – 1

Skill – 10

* * *

Decepticon (Splinter faction) – Twinshock

Function – Torturer

"Do you mind? I'm an 'enhanced stress conversationalist,' you dolt."

Once upon a time a well-connected young lady mech from the fashionable end of Polyhex, Twinshock holds the dubious distinction of being one of the few Decepticons expelled from the War Academy for dishonourable conduct. Finding this intriguing rather than off-putting, Ratrod quickly snapped her up for her fledgling black ops team. Considers herself incredibly beautiful and cultured. Her patrician airs can get on her teammates' nerves, but they know she's genuinely rotten at heart, and vice versa. Her left forearm was chewed off by a Sharkticon she once felt the need to taunt, and Kludge has installed a Tesla coil-like energy projector in its place, to Twinshock's immense mortification. Regardless of its aesthetic qualities, the 1 gigawatt blast it can deliver at full charge gives her quite the edge on the battlefield, though it takes time to fully charge, and she far prefers using it at lower (but painful) settings against defeated and restrained opponents. She's lovely like that …

Strength – 4

Intelligence – 7

Speed – 8

Endurance – 3

Rank – 3

Courage – 4

Firepower – 9

Skill – 8

* * *

Decepticon (Splinter faction) – Cutdown

Function – Thief

"This is mine, that's mine, all this is mine. I'm claiming all this as mine … except that bit. I don't want that bit. But all the rest of this is _mine_!"

It was while working as a junior Decepticon supply officer on Skaanos that Cutdown first realised her profound love and appreciation of other people's property. This led to a few lonely centuries as an unaligned mercenary before Ratrod and Kludge persuaded her that she would find scope for her inclinations within their outfit, while filling the niche of 'sneaky, unpredictable, ninja-esque bastard' that had hitherto been sadly vacant. Wields a pair of borazon-bladed chakrams and can manipulate their flight paths electromagnetically to get behind most any guard. Failing that, she can completely stealth herself for up to 45 seconds at a time. Self-conscious about her size – even Insecticons can look down on her – which can occasionally impede her judgement, but her agility is usually enough to get her out of most scrapes without inconveniencing her teammates.

Strength – 3

Intelligence – 6

Speed – 7

Endurance – 4

Rank – 2

Courage – 8

Firepower – 2

Skill – 9

* * *

Decepticon (Splinter faction) – Hardtail

Function – Suppressive fire support

"Dare to be all that you can be, mother******!"

Hardtail's story is by turns tragic, inspiring, and unutterably twisted. Once a lowly, (incorrectly) male-assigned Autobot labourer from Iacon, she was forged in the conservative time towards the end of the Revolution, when mods and upgrades, even for non-combat purposes, were viewed with suspicion. Sick of her existence, she volunteered for military duty in one of the most dangerous off-world sectors where the war was still raging. She was guarding a supply post during a Quintesson raid, and by her bravery managed to save Kludge – who was there to trade for energon – from being struck by a concussion bomb, but was herself left almost dead by the blast. Kludge – recognising her debt to the unfortunate soldier but bitterly annoyed at having her life saved by some worthless male Autobot – took special pains to reconstruct Hardtail as someone whom she could bear to be saved by: to wit, a powerful female Decepticon, and to hell with informed consent. Upon reviving her patient, she was surprised, though not displeased, to find that Hardtail was immediately ecstatic about this gross malpractice, and the two have been inseparable ever since.

Hardtail's smoothbore pipe rifle – designed for her by Kludge to celebrate ten thousand years of going steady – can take various forms of ammunition, although its range and accuracy are patchy at the best of times. Its maiming record, however, is truly formidable, and invaluable to the team just as long as they remember to keep a wide berth whenever her trigger-finger gets itchy …

Strength – 6

Intelligence – 6

Speed – 6

Endurance – 8

Rank – 1

Courage – 9

Firepower – 8

Skill – 4


	3. Uncanny Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transported to Aeaea, Pearl comes to face with her past, learns who has captured her and why, and is a faced with a painful moral dilemma.

**"Isn't it nice to find yourself somewhere different?"**

While she was retreated into her gem, 'thinking' was not so much the term for what Pearl did as 'semi-lucidly dreaming.' Without a body and its myriad organs and senses, she had little perception of external reality or time, and a heightened awareness of her memories. They flashed through her consciousness almost as vividly as when she had lived them, although in no particular order: battles; bereavements; glories; grief; the Corrupting Light; Rose's demise; fusion dances; being at Pink Diamond's side, both on Homeworld and Earth … _Earth, yes._ Something in that memory stirred a sense of urgency and purpose, a sense that she could not afford to take her time with this reforming. _Amidst a gathering of Homeworld Gems, a face, not of their kind, yet familiar … and dangerous._ With an effort of will, she stopped the random, leisurely drift through the troubled landscapes of her mind, and focused intently not on choosing a new form, but simply on restoring one of her old aspects. This was less than ideal: since the reformed body would become the Gem's default appearance, the recommended approach was always to wait and see what would naturally coalesce, and thus make the best, most harmonious physical reflection of one's current evolution. However, to settle for an old but stable form was better than rushing or forcing the attempt to make a new one. _Yes, that will do,_ she decided, fixing her intention upon a memory of herself wearing a one-piece blue jumpsuit, with symmetrical yellow highlights on the upper arms and legs, and Pink Diamond's symbol on the breast. Unlike the elegant, balletic outfits she had worn in recent years it had a stark, synthetic, and uniform look to it. Somehow, although her sense of why she was doing this was still very cloudy, this seemed a fitting outfit for the occasion. Her choice made, she willed herself to materialise, moving forwards into a portal of intensely bright light …

The light faded, revealing a panorama of light blue, clear sky over the darker blue of the sea, but not the sea with which she was familiar. _Nor, come to that, the same Gem ruins,_ and ruins there were. She was standing upon a wide clifftop, just outside the broken, blueish stone courses of what must have once been some kind of Gem observation post. Its remaining walls and pillars were overgrown with weeds, fragmentary, and worn by the elements, yet still bearing legible glyphs and familiar motifs. _Ship names, communicator call signs,_ she thought, while reading the characters on one of the more intact slabs. _Duty schedules, cut and facet numbers of Gems, all Nephrites. A hangar facility, or traffic control? The Eyrie, of course,_ she realised, while remembering the place in its heyday: the signal tower over fifty stories high, its walls smooth and gleaming almost like cut gems themselves. Swarms of dropships coming and going, delivering technology and specialists from Homeworld, returning with resources and specimens. The occasional visits from alien dignitaries, those rare occasions when Pink Diamond would be required to travel down from the Moon Base to fulfil her diplomatic functions, her loyal Pearl at her … _Ah yes, that's where I met our Decepticon friend before. So why bring me back here? It's unlikely to be sentimental reasons. Would it be too much to hope the warp pad is still working?_ she wondered, while strolling purposefully through the remains of the colonnaded lobby to where she knew it had once been. _Reinforcements would be nice, or even an emergency exit._ The pad was still there, half-buried under a profusion of ferns, but otherwise looking only mildly worn. She cleared the worst of the growth away, took the warp whistle from her gem, and blew, producing a short, warbling, echoing tune, but there was no discernible reaction from the warp pad, and definitely no reinforcements. Though disappointing, it was only what Pearl had expected. _Had it been working we'd have found this place on our usual rounds. Still, just because it's off the warp network doesn't mean it's safe,_ she reasoned, returning the warp whistle to her Gem and summoning her spear in its place. _One can but hope the personnel all managed to evacuate before the Corruption – they would have had ships, at least – but I wouldn't be surprised to bump into a Centipeetle or two, not to mention Stryxia and her charming friends must be somewhere about. Better safe than sorry, or burned, or slashed, or beaten, or electrocuted … again,_ she thought, not unresentfully, as she marched out of the ruins, her spear held ready for action.

As she moved further inland, descending the long slope of the cliff, she was careful to take in as much information as she could about her surroundings. It was a large island, much as she remembered it, but she had never known where on the planet it was actually located, and even had her knowledge of Earth geography been less patchy, the empty horizons, save for a few small, rocky outcrops, offered no clues. It was densely forested, but from the higher slopes she could see where a few areas had been cleared to make room for cultivation, small geodesic domes, gleaming golden sail-like structures that she guessed were solar panels, and slender silver wind turbines. _Decepticons do love their energy … though to be fair, that's quite a modest setup by their usual slash-and-burn standards._ She could see a few distant figures moving back and forth among these areas, some tending the allotments, and a few swimming in the waters of an inlet, but whether human or Cybertronian was more than she could reliably say. At first glance they did not look large or bulky enough to be Decepticons, but if they were human there was something not quite right. They all seemed to be naked, and their skin caught the light with unusual brilliance. The swimmers in particular looked strange, all using the same butterfly stroke and never once parting their legs, even the ones who were just resting on the beach. _That is, assuming those are legs,_ she reconsidered, while squinting hard at the silvery figures with their tapering lower halves and their curiously large, flat feet that never seemed to move independently. _Is it just me, or do they look kind of … fishy?_

The closer she came, however, the lower the terrain dipped, and she eventually lost her vantage point altogether as she approached the edge of the forest. She proceeded through the trees stealthily, her spear pointed ahead just in case it became advisable to greet anything with a quick energy bolt to the face. After a few minutes she emerged into a small clearing, where various herbs and flowers grew in neatly tended beds divided by gravel paths, and where the sole occupant immediately looked terrified at the sight of her armed, stalking visitor, dropping the basket of herbs that she was carrying in shock. Pearl quickly assumed a more relaxed stance. _She's no threat to me … whatever she is._ The gardener was a young-looking woman of average height and mostly normal human proportions, as Pearl would make out very well, though not without a certain amount of blushing, since she was indeed completely naked. Her form was athletic but shapely, and her 'skin' a deep, shiny, coppery brown. _Very shiny._ While beautifully formed, remarkably animated, and obviously capable of emotion, she was as clearly a construct of metal as any Cybertronian, although the only things that screamed 'Decepticon' about her were her wide, red LED eyes and the small sigil embossed at the base of her neck, like a permanent evil-looking cameo. Although her designer had obviously made every effort to capture a pleasing representation of humanity, there was no attempt to disguise her mechanical nature. Her 'hair' was merely a sculpted, textured extension of her head, resembling an afro. Her smooth metal exoskeleton was broken at intervals by the lines of jointed sections and overlapping plates. Some human features had been replaced by entirely technological equivalents, such as her ears, which were mere perforated grilles, and – Pearl could not avoid noticing – her genitals, which had been simplified to an iris-like arrangement of small overlapping panels. Pearl supposed that the intention had been to create a harmonious synthesis of human and Cybertronian aesthetics, although the reason why eluded her. _Pure artistic challenge, perhaps? I suppose even Decepticons must get creative moods now and again._ At any rate, although she thought the result beautiful in its own strange way, she wondered if a human would feel the same, or if they would find this metallic simulacrum of their species creepy rather than attractive. _What is it they call that feeling? Un-something valley? For such a diverse species, they're often so poor at coping with difference, not that we Gems have any right to be pointing the-_

"Quis es tu?" asked the robot, her voice resonating with the same metallic vibrato as her creators' voices, but more timid and panicky than any Decepticon Pearl had ever heard. "Dimitte mihi, mea domina, sed … ego non te cognos-"

"My stars, that takes me back," said Pearl, faultlessly switching languages after just a moment's confusion, with a good-natured laugh. "It must be the best part of five hundred years since I last had any call to speak Latin … unless I've slipped back in time, of course," she added, momentarily troubled, but quickly dismissed that anxiety. "No, what am I thinking of. The Romans didn't have any sentient robots, at least as far as I remember, and in tech terms it was all mostly downhill after them … Sorry, I'm not exactly explaining myself well here," she apologised, noticing that the robot's expression had gone from afraid to just plain freaked-out. "I'm Pearl, and you don't need to call me 'my lady.' I'm just a visitor here … I certainly hope … and, err, did your creator give you a name?"

"Oh, yes," she answered, a little more brightly. "I'm Wavedancer. Lady Stryxia gave me that name as I'm the best swimmer among the nymphs … so she tells me, anyway. Well, I _am_ good, but I used to be a pearl diver back in Carthage, you see? It's only natural that-"

"Did you just say Carthage?" _That really is going back, but how is that even possible, unless … ?_ "Did you used to be human?" asked Pearl, with a sudden sense of epiphany, and outrage. The robot's confused look persisted, so she clarified: "Mortal, organic, flesh and blood?"

"Yes, a very long time ago," replied Wavedancer, matter-of-factly. "Like many of us, I was in a ship that was wrecked here: my master's, at the time. He was a Cilician, a pirate … and a cruel man," she remembered, with a haunted air. "I was blessed to find favour with the Three, and they remade me as I now am. My master and his men did not find favour. Lady Stryxia … used them, to test her spells, and her potions. They didn't live long, though I think for some of them it was too long. It was horrible … but well deserved."

"I'm sure," said Pearl, restraining her anger as best she could, which she suspected was not very well. "And were _you_ willing to be 'remade' like this?"

"Who would refuse such an honour?" asked Wavedancer, sincerely. "I was the slave of evil and unworthy men. Now, I am the slave of great and noble goddesses." Pearl could not help but think that the killer clause in this was the word "slave," but she held her tongue. _There's not much point in upsetting her, but those wretched Decepticons will answer for this, and how dare they commit their atrocities out of our ruins. As if these relics didn't have an ugly enough history as it is._ "Anyway … forgive me, Pearl, but if you're a stranger here, then I'd better take you to the Three at once. They don't care for trespassers, but if you give yourself up you might find favour with them too and become as I am." _That'll be a good trick,_ thought Pearl, sardonically. _Best not to tempt fate, though. I wouldn't put it past those sadists to try mounting my gem on a circuit board just for the fun of it._ "The Glass Roads are not far from here. I'll take you to their palace. Come."

She set off through the trees, on a course even further downhill and Pearl followed, resignedly. Mildly tempting though it was to make a break for it, being a wanted fugitive on a remote island with a broken warp pad was not a very promising escape plan, and there was still Obsidian to consider. _If I can find and free her, at least we'd have a chance. Under the circumstances, I suppose even Megatron would just about do as an ally,_ she considered, very grudgingly. After a short walk, the trees thinned out again and they emerged onto the "Glass Roads," which were – exactly as Pearl had expected them to be – the old landing strips of the Gem facility, made of polished, translucent crystal slabs. They were in surprisingly good condition, suggesting they had been well maintained. What Pearl had not expected was to see a surprisingly ordinary, low-tech cargo plane parked on one of them, but at least that answered the mystery of how she had been brought here and it offered one potential way out. The huge, silver-hulled space cruiser parked on another strip – rather battered, clearly ancient, but of advanced design – somehow seemed less out of place by comparison. Wavedancer led her up to a large exterior hatch with the Decepticon symbol emblazoned on it, ascended a wooden ladder propped against the doorframe until she was at roughly Cybertronian height, then pressed an oversized intercom call button. She quickly scurried down the ladder, placed herself in full view of the downward-gazing CCTV camera recessed in the centre of the doorframe, and assumed a humble, kneeling posture. A few seconds later, her effort was rewarded by a harsh voice, dripping with disdain, that Pearl immediately recognised as Twinshock's:

"Yes, what is it you ignorant, dirt-grubbing primitive? Shouldn't you be working, or running around in your exercise wheel, or whatever it is you lot do?"

"My apologies, my lady," said Wavedancer, with serene humility, while Pearl fought the urge to hurl her spear at the electronic eye. "I met this stranger while I was tending my plot. I thought I should bring her to you. I hope I have not-"

"Hey, it's that alien hologram lady!" said another, more excitable voice over the intercom. "See, Twinny, Stryxia was right: she ain't dead after all, she's just gone and made herself a new body. That's two energon cubes you owe me."

"My ocular sensors _are_ working, Cutdown," replied the first voice, irritably. "I suppose we'd better bring her in, then." A motor softly whirred, and the hatch parted down the middle, revealing a metal corridor in which Twinshock and Cutdown were both standing by a wall monitor. They quickly turned from it to face the new arrivals. "You, Gem: come forward. Not _you_ ," added Twinshock, contemptuously, while turning her glare on Wavedancer, who had been entering the craft along with Pearl. "No cybergrafts in the ship unless specifically called for. Just bugger off and find some faecal matter to shovel, or something equally fitting." Wavedancer bowed meekly and was on the point of turning to leave, when Pearl detained her by laying a hand upon her arm.

" _Actually_ , I don't think either of us are going anywhere," said Pearl, dangerously, while meeting Twinshock's incredulous expression with an icy, defiant stare. "That is, not until a certain someone apologises for being such a petty-minded, casually cruel, treacherous little … _jerk_ ," she finished, somewhat more lamely but a lot more politely that she had been inclined to.

"Hey, how about that?" remarked Cutdown, far more amused that her comrade. "She's only met you the once, and she already knows you so well. Ain't that touching?"

"Any more insolence, alien," hissed Twinshock, doing her best to ignore Cutdown's mirth, "and I'll give you far worse than I did before, you can be sure of-"

"Whatever you're up to, you lot, knock it off!" barked another voice from behind them. They turned to meet it, giving Pearl a much better view of the speaker: the Decepticon with the battle-axe and the panel truck altmode, now marching down the corridor to meet them. "I know we're damn near immortal, but I reckon I just might die of old age waiting for you two to answer the freakin' doorbell."

"Sorry, Sarge," apologised Cutdown. "Hey, look: the alien's back. One of Stryxia's Earthling pets brought her in."

"Her _name_ is Wavedancer," said Pearl, her hostility unabated, though Wavedancer herself was looking less than comfortable with her new friend's efforts to defend her honour. "One of you lot gave it to her, apparently, so you ought to know it."

"How dare-" Twinshock began to retort, but the sergeant cut her off with a brusque wave of her hand, then turned to Wavedancer, her manner gruff and short, but just about polite:

"Nice going, girl. I'll note it on your service record, and you can take the rest of the day off. Just grab yourself some energon and chill. We'll handle it from here."

"Thank you, my la-" began Wavedancer, but corrected herself after the sergeant raised a finger in a negatory gesture. "Thank you, Sergeant Ratrod. Sorry, I forgot."

"That's better. Too many damn airs and graces about this place, if you ask me. It's starting to make me think I should change my engine grease for the first time in half a million years, give or take … like hell. On your way. As for _you_ ," she added, for Pearl's benefit, "Her Nibs is keen to meet you, and I'm guessing you're not the sort to keep aristocracy waiting."

"My pleasure, I'm sure," replied Pearl, coldly, but returning her spear to her gem for the sake of diplomacy. _That could have gone worse, and now isn't the best of times to be paying back Twinshock in kind. Hopefully later …_ She stepped forward, the hatch sealed again, and the four of them proceeded down the corridor and onto the command deck of the spaceship. By normal humanoid standards it was indeed palatial, its gleaming silver walls reaching up over thirty feet, and its banks of vividly-coloured LEDs and computer monitor screens resembling vast, animated stained-glass windows. Four more Decepticons were awaiting them within it, including Stryxia, who was lounging in a huge metal revolving chair, and Megatron, who was on the floor, on his knees, and looking decidedly the worse for wear. _Ten to one, Twinshock and her charming friends had some sport with him while I was regenerating,_ thought Pearl, distastefully. He briefly met her gaze as she entered the room, and she had never seen his expression so jaded and hopeless. In contrast, Stryxia smiled warmly and waved her a greeting.

"Hey! Loving the spacesuit, Pearl," she complimented her. Pearl managed a small, stiff nod by way of thanks, then turned her attention to the other two Decepticons, both women, who were standing over Megatron. One was of the Seeker body-type, sleek and winged, with red and black livery and a stern expression. The other, and the tallest, had some vague resemblance to Megatron himself, with her mostly silver livery; her open-faced helmet; her flared, angular lower legs; and the long cannon-like apparatus protruding from her back. The lines of the helmet were longer and smoother, though, somewhat resembling a cowl, and she had a crescent moon-shaped crest mounted on her forehead. Her demeanour was calm and regal, but not reassuring to Pearl. It was almost like looking at a chrome-plated combination of Blue and Yellow Diamond, _but let's not judge her that harshly just yet,_ decided Pearl. _Don't forget that Rose … I mean, that Pink once extended her hospitality to these three. I do remember them, now, although Stryxia's changed for the worse. She should really reconsider the hair … after she's reconsidered the morality of abduction, torture, and turning innocent humans into robot slaves, of course. That kind of takes priority._ The female Decepticon Leader also turned to Pearl and gave her a courteous, if brief greeting. _Moonshadow, if I remember her name correctly, bearing in mind all I was doing at the time was following her and Pink around, head bowed low, being the good little unobtrusive domestic._

"You're most welcome, Pearl. If you'll indulge me a little, I just need to conclude this … trivial matter," she declared, while turning her gaze back to Megatron, and narrowing it. "Now, where were we?"

"You were attempting, my dear, to persuade me of the virtues of ordering my Decepticons to pledge their allegiance to you and thus bolster your own pathetically small forces," answered Megatron, managing to strike a defiant and insolent note in spite of his plight, not unimpressively, "and in the parlance of this planet, I was telling you where to stick it."

"So you were. Twinshock, will you come over here for a moment?" asked Moonshadow, her tone innocuous enough, but a look of intense anxiety came over Megatron's expression, and the twisted smile on Twinshock's face as she moved to join them seemed to justify it. "Thank you. Level four," ordered Moonshadow. Twinshock immediately thrust her electrode arm against the small of Megatron's back, and for a few horrible seconds there was a harsh blue sparking that glinted off all the surfaces, an acrid smell of ozone, and the agonised metallic screaming of the captured, humiliated warlord.

"Stop that!" shouted Pearl, although in no expectation that her disgust would have any effect, so it was a pleasant surprise when Moonshadow raised her hand and the torture ceased.

"How fortunate for you that I have a guest who does _not_ delight in your pain," said Moonshadow, even more coldly than before. "I suspect she is in a minority. I will spare you for now, but if you ever call me 'my dear' again I'll order Twinshock to repeat that experience at full charge, which will probably blow your laser core apart after a few seconds. Not to be sidetracked, though: I'm curious to know _why_ you will not yield to me. According to my intel, you've sunk low enough in the past to yield to both Optimus Prime and Starscream, of all cowardly degenerates. Should I take special offence? Or do you not take my threats seriously? If you need any more proof-"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll kill me, Moonshadow … after you're certain I'm of no more use to you alive, which you're _not_. There are costs to pay for being the calculating type, my d- … my lady," he settled for, though very sarcastically. "Starscream has the virtue of being an impulsive, unstable imbecile. One is always on safe ground yielding power to him, as you know he'll never succeed in holding it, which is more than I dare predict for you. As for Prime … well, what would be the point in _not_ yielding to such a sentimental fool if he's too squeamish to take full advantage of his victories? Yes, mea culpa, I'm a shameless opportunist, Moonshadow, and that is part of the reason why _I_ am Decepticon Leader and _you_ are not. You think you are ruthless, but your dedication to chivalry is as quaint and pathetic as Prime's, or even _hers_ ," he added, disdainfully, while glancing at Pearl. "You throw away advantages for the sake of mere reputation, but the Decepticons of old had made too many sacrifices already, and they saw that _my_ way was the logical one. Or have you ever known Shockwave and Soundwave to be swayed by anything other than cold, hard reason?"

"Soundwave?" she asked, incredulously and with contempt. "You think the dead voice fools _me_? He has never been swayed by logic. On the contrary, he's been your devoted sycophant ever since you pulled him out of the gutters of Tarn and made him feel less like a worthless empty and more like a warrior, though I daresay charity was less on your mind than recruiting a rare and valuable telepath. As for Shockwave … well, you may have a point there, but when he sees that your way has failed dismally and mine has not, he will soon re-evaluate his loyalties."

"Not without evidence, and yours is lacking. Skulking on this island, backed up by a band of addle-brained thugs who can't even carry out a simple kidnapping to plan, and surrounded by these pathetic, disgusting, part-human cyborg pets," he remarked, helpfully reminding Pearl that she still hated him more than anyone else in the room, _though I suppose him and Twinshock would make an interesting, if gruesome couple._ "Hardly a recipe for victory, Moonshadow, and you'll find that my capture does little to change those odds. Oh, you _could_ try using me as a hostage, I suppose, but I fear I've taught my troops far too well. Ten to one, Starscream is already writing the programme for his coronation, over the objections of several rivals. Stormbird is probably laughing her head off and giving a toast to my painful demise," he added, to Pearl's astonishment. _They've captured her daughter as well, for Homeworld's sake. The cynical, self-pitying old sociopath._ "I'm not sure even Soundwave will stick his neck out for me, now that I've failed so conspicuously. Mea culpa, indeed … but I draw solace from knowing that does not help _you_ in the slightest. Why, even if I was to order my Decepticons to pledge their loyalty to you in exchange for my life, do you honestly think there would be any takers?"

"Well, you've convinced me," said the Seeker, her metallic lips curling. "No offence to Stryxia and the Furicons – we couldn't have predicted he'd be coming in Stormbird's place, and I guess they made the best of a bad lot – but he certainly makes a poor consolation prize. If you'll heed my advice, ma'am, we should just terminate this usurper and have done with it."

"Not yet, Firetalon, and certainly not in front of my guest," replied Moonshadow, then turned to Ratrod. "Take him back to the brig, Sergeant. We shall wait on news of his friends, if he has any, before we make a final decision on his fate." The three Furicons heaved Megatron to his feet and escorted him, none too gently, along the length of the great hall and through a sliding bulkhead. When they were out of sight, Moonshadow turned back to Pearl and addressed her apologetically. "A distasteful business. I do hope it will not tarnish our reunion too seriously. It is good to see you again, Pearl. It has been … oh, at least six thousand years, if memory chips serve."

"Yes. You were looking for a primitive world to settle," recalled Pearl, "but your ship's photon drive was a slow model, and by the time it got you to Earth the Gem colony had been established. Pink Diamond let you stop here to refuel and service your ship. You spent quite a lot of time together – Pink always did love to hear of alien cultures and places – and then you went away … somewhere. I seem to remember it was quite far, but I can't exactly-"

"The intergalactic void, in fact," said Stryxia. "We thought about maybe giving Andromeda a try. Fresh start, hopefully a less crowded venue, no need to dwell on the sad remnants of our species kicking the shit out of each other anymore … One heck of a long haul, of course, but we thought that with the upgrades you'd generously given us here, and judicious use of extended downtime cycles, we could make it bearable … no such luck. I doubt we'd even made one percent of the crossing when our stabilisers began failing. We were just damn lucky we found an orphan planetoid we could set down on to patch them up. Needless to say, we turned the ship right around after that."

"And came back to Earth … and you saw that the Gem colony had collapsed, so you decided to stay here?"

"Precisely," answered Moonshadow, "and although we counted ourselves fortunate, and I can well understand the motivations for the Gem Rebellion … may I say, I was saddened to hear of the death of your former mistress? Pink Diamond was not only a generous and noble hostess, but a truly fascinating one, passionate and ambitious, yet wise and insightful. In all honesty, it surprised me that she was not at the forefront of the civil war rather than its most notable victim. I sensed that she had grave doubts about the collateral effects of the colonisation … but even so, I do wish I'd had the opportunity to meet her assassin too. Rose Quartz was clearly a woman of great courage and conviction."

"Err, yes," replied Pearl, hoping her blushing was not too visible, _as that's a minefield of awkward questions, most of which I'm neither inclined nor even able to answer._ "Well, you know, you could have called on us earlier. You obviously knew about the Crystal Temple. It wasn't necessary to leave it so long, nor to make your eventual visit quite so unfriendly."

"Ah … I do regret that, but we were not ready to risk being widely known to the world. We were actually close to declaring ourselves recently, then of all rotten luck, two other Cybertronian factions came crawling out from under a volcano in North America and started the war all over again. Would that they had stayed peacefully buried … As you probably gathered from that unproductive interview, Megatron's rabble are no more likely to befriend us than Prime's. I take pride in what we have established here, and I will not have it laid waste for the sake of their squabbles. Stormbird would have been a valuable asset, being a skilled engineer and one of the few Decepticons in this day and age who has not lost all sight of honour, among other reasons. We'd hoped to persuade her and her daughter to join us peacefully, but the best laid plans of glitch mice and mechs, or words to that effect … Well, this is not quite the reunion I had wanted, but I trust you can at least see that we mean you no harm, and that you are no prisoner. Indeed, you were given the run of the place on my orders. I was keen that you should form your own impressions and see that this island is no concentration camp before our meeting."

"That's all very well, but what about Obsidian?" protested Pearl. "Even if you consider the Autobots your enemies, she's done you no harm. Is she- ?"

"Like you, she's been given the run of the place, though I did disable her transformation and combat protocols," explained Stryxia. "She can't fly off the island or engage in any offensive action, but otherwise she's free to roam. I still haven't given up hope of persuading her mother to defect, so it would be nice if Obsidian didn't give _too_ bad a report of us."

"I see. You certainly seem keen on recruiting Stormbird … and it doesn't bother you at all that she was once human? You don't see her as inferior?"

"No. Why should I? Her hardware's essentially the same as ours, and a spark is just a spark."

"I'm glad you asked, as that brings me onto rather an important point," declared Pearl, her anger rising again. "Namely, what is a 'cybergraft' and what gives you the right to make them?" Stryxia cast a searching look to Moonshadow, who reacted with a non-committal gesture before answering:

"This is _your_ domain, science officer. Far be it from me to cramp your style." Stryxia smiled resignedly, turned back to Pearl, and answered in a careful, patient tone:

"Tell me, Pearl: while you were out and about did you notice any whips, chains, razor wire entanglements, trained predatory beasts, or any of the other delightful devices humans themselves make liberal use of to restrain their own kind?"

"No, admittedly." _Wavedancer did seem contented, in an eerily docile way. Nevertheless …_ "Twinshock was horrible to the woman … the cyborg, whatever who escorted me here."

"Oh, Twinshock _is_ horrible. I'd be inclined to do a spot of personality reprogramming on her myself, if it wasn't for the risk of compromising Boneyard's effectiveness."

"Boneyard? Is that the Furicons' fusion?" guessed Pearl.

"Exactly, and though she's far from pleasant company, she's too damned good at what she does to risk weakening her … even if that is mostly smashing things up scarily," she added, giving Pearl a grim sense almost of déjà vu. _You'd have thought one Sugilite was more than enough for any universe._ "I _will_ have words with Twinshock about that, though. We've been through this too often. Still, my cybergrafts know they've nothing to fear from her bluster. They're well protected and cared for here. Have a look for yourself." She turned to the console, flicked a few switches, and several of the monitor displays changed to live CCTV feeds of the island and its activity. Pearl could now see that there were a great many of the robotised humans, possibly hundreds, both men and women of various ethnicities to judge from the diverse body-types and finishes Stryxia had given them. Some were tending allotments, some were working at computer stations, some were carrying bundles, some were eating 'wafers' of glowing energon dispensed from machines, and quite a few were relaxing in almost absurdly quaint ways, playing primitive hand-crafted musical instruments, dancing along to the music, reading antiquated-looking books, bathing in natural pools, and engaging in friendly competitions of athletics and gymnastics. None seemed to be conspiring to topple their overlords, although a couple in a shady grove did have a somewhat furtive air. _They seem to be whispering, anyway. Very close, very secretive. Now what … ? Oh._ The female cyborg's hand had just drifted down to her male companion's thigh, and some kind of retractable piston had started to emerge from a sliding panel between his legs, when Stryxia jabbed a switch and killed that particular monitor feed. "You know, I really _must_ get that camera moved," she remarked, sheepishly. "No-one ever uses that grove for anything else, and there's some intel we can live without … but I take it you get the idea, Pearl. The cybergrafts work ten hours out of every twenty-four and they spend two hours in downtime and maintenance. The rest of the time is their own, and we make sure they have lots of opportunities to fill it."

"So I see … and, err, what was the idea with _those_ ones?" asked Pearl, pointing to a feed of the beach she had seen before from a distance. On the monitor, it was very clear that the fused 'legs' of the swimmers were in fact huge, segmented, metallic tails terminating in fins. "An experiment?"

"Not at all. They're just using the Mark 2 aquatic mod. It's detachable, I promise. There's probably a huge pile of legs just out of shot, but I'll let you imagine that for yourself. You see, there's a type of saltwater algae that grows abundantly around our reefs, but to keep the crop sustainable it's necessary to harvest it over a wide area, and at different depths. Properly processed, it makes rather a good biofuel, which in turn makes energon, see?"

"Indeed. So, instead of raiding oilfields and power plants, you make energon cubes by turning humans into robot merpeople and getting them to gather seaweed. That's … both endearing and inordinately creepy."

"I try," said Stryxia, smiling archly, "but at any rate, you must admit it's not the most oppressive of societies. Many of those humans came from far worse, not to mention they came here of their own accord, more or less. Shipwrecks, forced landings, plane crashes, refugees from the southern continent, etcetera. This island is rightfully ours if it's anyone's – we settled it long before the nearest Earth nation even existed – and we've a right to our peace and privacy, yet I don't think we're too cruel to our occasional trespassers. Do you? They're fortunate in many ways. Human lives are so short and tragic, and they rightly resent it. Cybergrafts are far more enduring and efficient constructs than organic humans, and their capabilities if anything are enhanced."

"I take the point," admitted Pearl, somewhat reluctantly. _I have to concede, though, Gems did far worse … habitually._ "I suppose I see why they call themselves 'nymphs,' anyway," she remarked, while looking over the monitors with their picturesque but bizarrely hybrid scenes, as if someone had 'cyberpunked' the figures on a Grecian vase or a Renaissance painting. "'Magically' changed into immortal servants of their 'goddesses.' Well, as long as they're happy."

"Yes, well …" replied Stryxia, with an uncomfortable note, "you've hit on a couple of important points, there. I will say, though, I do quite like the 'nymph' thing. A bit twee, but it's got a truth to it they never imagined. Some insects on this planet start their life with a larval stage, as maggots and grubs and suchlike: pathetic, squishy, needy things with little resemblance to the elegant, swift, agile forms they're destined for. Still, all the potential for the final lifeform is there, if well hidden. Others, though, have a 'nymph' stage, where they at least bear a resemblance to what they're going to become, albeit a smaller and weaker version of-"

"You intend to turn your cybergrafts into actual Cybertronians?" asked Pearl, with sudden realisation and very mixed feelings.

"Those that show promise, certainly. That _was_ actually the point of the initial experiment. What else are we to do, Pearl? I could have built simple drones to supply our energy needs, but there are things drones can't do for us … and that we can't do for ourselves anymore," she added, sadly. "Those bloody Autobots, it seems, have monopolised our species' reproductive capabilities. Look," she instructed, while switching two of the monitor displays to computer-generated images. One was of a multifaceted yellow sphere, glowing brightly, while the other was of a pale-blue crystal, like a huge brilliant cut diamond, contained in a heavy metallic casing with an open front. She pointed to the first image as she explained: "Vector Sigma, the AI at the heart of Cybertron that gave us all our sparks. Primus only knows what it really is, mind. Well, some would say it _is_ Primus, or at least something like his 'Ark of the Covenant,' if you're of the religious type."

"Religion?" remarked Pearl, doubtfully. She had heard such mythical terms before, but always assumed they were just casual exclamations to spice up conversation. _Why, after all, would a race of robots need creation myths?_ "But I thought you were all created by the Quintessons."

"Well, quite, but you know how-" began Stryxia, sympathetically, but she was quickly and zealously shot down by Moonshadow:

"That, Pearl, is a vile slur, although widely accepted by the sceptical. The Quintessons are thieves and slavers. They created nothing. They simply found Cybertron in its primitive phase, repurposed Vector Sigma so that we would all be brainwashed into serving them, put out the lie that they had created us, and thus ruined our natural evolution, possibly for ever, although the _true_ Decepticon cause is dedicated to reversing that damage. As for Vector Sigma, I hold with the wisdom of the ancients on that: it is no less than a shard of the Allspark; the great extra-dimensional crystal to which all life like ours owes it ultimate source. The Quintessons may have mutilated it with their own blasphemous tech, but they certainly did not create it."

"Well, whatever it is, it's inoperable now," continued Stryxia. "The Autobots destroyed the key that activated it. Doubtless they meant well, in their tedious do-gooding way, but that's not exactly helped our survival prospects. Now, that blue crystal there is the Autobot Matrix of Leader-"

"Don't call it that," interrupted Moonshadow, vociferously. "Just because the Primes have sunk low enough to use the Holy of Holies as a glorified badge of office … It is the _Creation Matrix_ , and is likewise a shard of the Allspark, but in much purer condition. Legend states that it too contains the secret 'programs,' if you will, by which a new spark may be created. Since it permanently resides in the body of the current Autobot Prime, however, only being passed on to their successor at death, that too is of little help to us. You seem enthralled, Pearl," she noted, approvingly, although Pearl doubted she had fully understood the reason for her fascination with the subject.

"I can't help but notice," replied Pearl, while gazing intently at the dazzling, multifaceted Cybertronian relics. "Is it just me, or … do those look a lot like Gem artefacts? Oh, but that would be silly," she remarked, dismissively. "I mean, we're pretty ancient, but your society goes back aeons further … though then again, who knows how old White Diamond really is?"

"Who indeed? Pink Diamond and I often talked of such things, during our all-too-brief friendship. Much is lost in the mists of time, and I doubt we could ever accumulate enough proof to satisfy the determined sceptics," mused Moonshadow, with a wry glance at Stryxia, "but I am convinced that a common heritage unites our races, even if our divergence probably occurred billions of years ago. Living energy that achieves physical existence through silicon-based matrices, crystalline in your case, and cybernetic in ours. Perhaps White Diamond herself is a shard of the Allspark. I hope one day I might even get to ask her … but getting back to Stryxia's point, we are living energy that also has grave difficulties with reproducing itself. Without new Decepticons, our cause is certainly lost, and I am neither optimistic nor enthusiastic about recruiting Megatron's band. We needed a new method, and for a time we thought we had it." She turned back to Stryxia, who slumped miserably in her chair before punching a few more keys, causing a new computerised image to appear: that of a blue, translucent, hemispherical object full of tiny, shimmering lights. Here and there on its surface were small sections of greyish, convoluted organic tissue.

"That's a cybergraft brain," she explained, sadly. "The idea was to capture the human spark while using as little organic material as possible. Of course, cybergraft bodies are designed to be aesthetically acceptable for the former humans, but at the same time to encourage adjustment to _our_ culture and way of life. New subjects are anaesthetised, then I strip out key areas of their cerebral cortices and graft them onto the artificial neural network. It's made of an adaptive electrochemical compound that can closely mimic the properties of brain tissue while helping the inbuilt support systems to sustain the remaining organic components. My theory … my hope was that it would gradually adapt to take over their function entirely, eventually leading to a seamless transition to full cybernetic life. All the signs were promising … until about two weeks ago. I'm sorry, could someone take over for me?" she asked, letting her head fall into her hands in a posture of utter despondence that seemed to go far beyond wounded professional pride. Indeed, Pearl had the disconcerting feeling that could Decepticons cry, she would currently be neck-deep in optical lubricant.

"One of our older subjects, a female called Brighteye," explained Firetalon, her tone gentle, but that did not stop Stryxia from wincing at the name. "Nice enough little thing, in her way. Can't say she had any real Decepticon potential, but very obliging. Two weeks ago she started having seizures, then delusions and paranoia, and soon enough complete derangement. We scanned her. You can probably guess what we found."

"Her organic tissue … ?" began Pearl, but left the horrible thought hanging. Firetalon picked it up, causing Stryxia to wince again, and give out a small, despairing moan:

"Was rotting inside her cranium, yes. Stryxia's theory was not completely wrong, though. By the time she was effectively sparkless – after five days of increasingly rapid degeneration – the artificial neural net still retained all her memories, but there was no will, no emotion. Just a databank with arms and legs. She never became fully independent of her organic brain matter. It will be the same with all the rest, unless we can devise some other way of liberating their sparks from their flesh, which is where Stormbird would have been an extremely useful acquis-"

"How did they make her, Pearl?" demanded Stryxia, suddenly animated again. "You know her well, and by all accounts you're an accomplished engineer yourself. You must have some idea."

"I only wish," answered Pearl, sincerely. "Some sort of mental energy transference process, but the specifics … Megatron ought to know, though. You could … persuade him to tell you?" she suggested, hardly believing what she was saying, and she was relieved when Moonshadow shot her morally questionable idea down:

"I tried. He doesn't know, but he _did_ find our reasons for asking hilarious, so I'd sooner not raise it with him again," she explained, hugely relieving Pearl's guilt in the process. _Is it possible to know that man and not want to torture him on some level?_ "Apparently it was that loathsome Insecticon Bombshell who actually performed the operation on Stormbird. Some hope we have of ever capturing him. The Insecticons are not known for their bravery, but they are incredibly elusive."

"Well … what about asking the Autobots? No, hear me out," urged Pearl, having received a chorus of short, ironic, contemptuous laughs by way of reply. "I remember Stormbird telling me that they actually invented the transference process. "I mean, I know you've had your … differences, but for something like this I'm sure you'd find them reasonable."

"Possibly, in exchange for our unconditional surrender," sneered Firetalon. "As soon as we reveal our presence to the Autobots, we are at war, and I'd sooner die with honour than submit to whatever terms they'd see fit to impose."

"They might not give you the chance. Ever hear of Nightbird?" asked Stryxia. Faced with three equally nonplussed looks, she explained. "She wasn't one of us … not exactly, anyway. She was some sort of experimental human military drone, but Megatron stole her and had her upgraded. She even became a sentient being herself, before the Autobots recaptured her and obediently returned her to her human creators. They didn't kill her. They just paralysed her motor systems and locked her into some robot morgue under MIT. She's probably still down there, marking time. You'll pardon me if I don't much fancy joining her."

"Well, exactly," replied Moonshadow, after this grim bit of news had sunk in. "Optimus Prime cares nothing for his own kind. On the contrary, his great power and heritage shames him immensely. He has found his ideal raison d'être as a meek mechanical servant of humanity. Indeed, he would probably see our beautiful subjects as tainted goods and unworthy of saving just because they have forsaken their pure human nature."

"I'm sure _that's_ not true, and 'forsaken' is hardly the right word," remarked Pearl, somewhat reproachfully. "I daresay you meant well, but you weren't exactly giving them much choice … and of course, I understand your reservations – I was at war long enough to appreciate the sheer resentment it builds – but I'm struggling to think of any other options here."

"There is one, Pearl, but it depends on you," said Stryxia, earnestly. "This problem is beyond my science, I'm thoroughly ashamed to confess, but I do know of another science … one that verges upon magic, and _that's_ not something I'd easily admit. Oh, we've tried to study it since we came back here, from what remains we could find, but I can't say our understanding's advanced significantly. With your help, though-"

"Gem technology?" guessed Pearl, with an acutely unpleasant combination of shock and guilt. "You want me to … ? But I couldn't, I mean … and we didn't have any techniques like that, anyway."

"No, but I gather you _did_ have an advanced space bridge network, powerful subspace communications technology, and even some temporal warping abilities. Any of those might be invaluable for taking the information we need from our enemies without the risks and uncertainties of asking them nicely, if you catch my drift. Oh, I could have a stab at hacking Teletraan I remotely from this console, but more than likely Wheeljack's intrusion detection systems would be onto me in nanoseconds. I'd probably come away with bugger all data, and a war on our doorstep for my pains. However, if the intrusion was to come from an entirely alien source-"

"You want me to give you my people's secrets so that you can use them to commit espionage on your enemies?" asked Pearl, appalled if intrigued. _That … might work. The Communication Hub, for example: that could overwhelm any mere electronic system, however advanced. Not exactly subtle, but definitely viable … but no. It's out of the question._ "In case you hadn't heard, I gave up being an alien invader six thousand years ago! Like them or not, the Autobots are defending this planet, and I swore to do the same, and if you imagine I'm going to compromise their security for-"

"Over two thousand lives?" asked Stryxia, harshly. "We're not just talking the deaths of a few laboratory specimens, nor even the survival of our race. We're talking about me having to watch my friends … my children, in a sense, suffer a lingering, agonising, humiliating corruption. Can you even imagine how that- ?"

"All too easily," protested Pearl, but brokenly. _Corruption …_ A confused but hideous image of Wavedancer writhing and screaming as she mutated into a Centipeetle flashed into her thoughts, try as she did to shake it. "I want to help, believe me … but our technology, our so-called 'magic' has been abused too much on this planet as it is. To use it again, and to tip the balance in yet another war that doesn't belong on this world-"

"I'm not asking for military secrets, Pearl. I don't want you to reactivate the Kindergarten, provide us with ten thousand battle-ready Quartz soldiers. A Decepticon takes pride in fighting her own battles. I just want enough information to put my horrible mistake to rights. You can do the actual hacking yourself, if you don't trust me not to be greedy, or at least supervise-"

"All right. You win. I'll manage … something," she conceded, wearily. "I'll need to have a think about what, though. Would you all excuse me?"

"Of course. Take some time to see around the island, maybe meet some more of the cybergrafts," suggested Stryxia. "They're a diverse crowd: some have been here since the Bronze Age and have barely changed their habits or outlooks. Historically fascinating, if not quite what we hoped for, but others have studied hard in their spare time to better understand their situation, and their 'goddesses.' Of course, those ones now know damn well we're _not_ goddesses, but they're proud to serve us, and they probably know more about Cybertronian culture than some actual Cybertronians not a billion parsecs away. Get to know them, you'll appreciate the scope of the loss and tragedy you'll be helping us to avert … and thank you so much, Pearl. I can't tell you what this means to us."

"It's … nothing," Pearl managed, with intense awkwardness, as she walked dejectedly back towards the airlock. _There it was: my first major strategic decision without Rose, and not a minute after making it I'm already having grave doubts, and sorely in need of alone time yet again. Welcome to the rest of my life, I fear._

* * *

"Did you think she believed you?" asked Firetalon, not unpredictably, a few seconds after they heard the external blast door closing. _Optimistic as ever,_ thought Stryxia, wryly, but she resisted the urge to snark. _Even I can't argue things have been going brilliantly of late._

"Of course," she answered, simply. "Why shouldn't she have? I was completely truthful … Selective, I grant you, but truthful." Firetalon's frown only deepened as she replied:

"Her grief impairs her judgement – we can all relate to that – but she'd be a poor warrior if she didn't have suspicions, and she is categorically _not_ a poor warrior. With your permission, Moonshadow-"

"Have her observed by all means, my love, but discreetly," answered Moonshadow. Firetalon nodded thanks, turned to the console, and activated the monitor for botanicals section 14. Trueshot was there on her regular duty, taking an inventory of the herbs, flowers, and other unrefined but pretty phytochemicals on a datapad. As Firetalon pressed the signal button, the cybergraft lowered her pad and approached the camera, her posture disciplined, and the sunlight glinting brightly off the polished bronze contours of her body and the thick, symmetrical 'braids' of her sculpted 'hair.'

"Commander?" she asked, with economy and precision. _No more 'Your Holinesses' from her, and she knows Firetalon wouldn't appreciate them. To think how far she's come from the squeaking, stammering boy who once blundered in on Moonshadow's bathtime. To think how little time she might have … No. I'll prevent it if I have to tear the actual Matrix out of Prime's chest with my teeth._

"Keep an eye on our guests, Trueshot. A _subtle_ eye," ordered Firetalon. "Report at once on the secure channel if you hear anything concerning. I don't think I need elaborate. Acknowledge."

"Copy that, Commander," Trueshot replied, then quickly saved the data on her device, turned it off, clipped it to a small magnetic panel on her waist, and set off into the forest. Firetalon turned off the monitor again, her manner a little easier.

"I'm pleased you trust Trueshot so much," observed Stryxia. "A bit of a change from when she first came here. I was worried then you'd chuck her right back into the Mediterranean if I took my optics off her for an astro-second."

"I think even _you_ must admit, she wasn't exactly promising material back then. Fair play, though. She'll make a competent Seeker one of these days … assuming she lasts long enough, of course. We only converted her a few months after Brighteye, so she can't have much-"

"Please! Just don't go there." Firetalon managed an awkward grimace by way of apology before resuming:

"Well … for now, I think I'll take care of the Ilyushin. We can't just leave it standing out on that runway with our ship's autopilot and stealth generator wired into its primitive excuses for power and navigation systems. Much better if I get them back where they belong."

"Why? This poor old crate isn't going anywhere," pointed out Stryxia, while gesturing around the command deck of the grounded cruiser.

"You never know."

"Attend to that, then," agreed Moonshadow. "I need to … reflect. Take the watch for me, Strxyia. I shouldn't be more than an hour or two."

 _Right … 'reflect,'_ thought Stryxia, with sad irony, as her friends left the bridge, and Moonshadow – just as she had expected – took the door leading to the ship's now-useless stellar cartography chamber. Useless, that is, for its original purpose. Stryxia had mixed, but mostly negative feelings about the new use her leader had found for it. _I remember a time when 'reflect' meant scenic walks; long, leisurely flights; and relaxing dips by moonlight. Not being shut up for ages in that damn shrine with her only family's reliquaries for company. Can't be healthy … not that I'll complain if Primus or the ancestors decide to magic us up a solution, but I'll stick with science in the meantime. Speaking of which …_ She flicked through the camera feeds until she located Pearl again. She was on the secluded beach in the south-west sector, just outside the tall, electrified mesh fence with its sign that warned 'Beware the mutant Nephrite,' in several ancient and modern languages, as well as Cybertronian characters. Obsidian was with her, and they were in mid-conversation:

"… you think, Obsidian?" asked Pearl, plaintively. "You would know, if anyone would. Can we trust them?"

"They're … telling the truth," answered the young Autobot, guardedly. "I mean, they didn't _lie_ to me per se. Just kept a whole shit-ton of stuff to themselves, but that's all I could sense, sorry. I wish dad was here … though I bet he's glad he isn't. They sure don't seem keen on Megatron's lot."

"Meaning no disrespect to your family, but I suppose that at least must be in their favour. Well, I suppose it was too much to hope they'd be completely open with us. What about the cybergrafts all being fated to die horribly, though? Was that part true?"

"'Fraid so, Pearl."

"Then I've no choice."

 _Good girl,_ thought Stryxia, turning off the monitor and leaning back in her chair. _I'm only sorry I couldn't be more candid with you, but I'm sure we'll be friends one of these days … after the glorious and beautiful Decepticon Empire is an inexorable reality._

* * *

_And now, in this episode's edition of Gratuitous OC Tech Specs …_

**Those other two lady 'cons**

Decepticon (Splinter faction) – Moonshadow

Function – Warlord (disputed)

"An honourable death is the right of all who oppose me."

A true veteran of the Cybertronian Revolution, whose experience dates back even into the time of slavery. Once military operations commander to regional warlord Straxus of Darkmount, she lost her position, most of her supporters, and very nearly her life after a certain young, dynamic, and exceptionally ruthless warlord new on the scene – namely Megatron – launched a brutal initiative to unite all of the Decepticon factions, killing most of his rivals in the process. Since then, Moonshadow and her few remaining loyalists have lived as exiles. While those few see her as the rightful Decepticon Leader, in truth her ability to command a majority has always been hampered by two things: her old-school chivalry and her inclinations to mysticism, both considered quaint and morbid in a Decepticon cause increasingly focused on logical pragmatism and technological superiority.

Although a close contemporary of Kup, Ironhide, and not so far off Alpha Trion, she has chosen to maintain her youthful appearance, less out of vanity and more out of her determination to retain and expand her front-line leadership role. In spite of her immense age and misfortunes, she holds onto the view that she is destined to rule the Decepticons, lead them to glory, and avenge herself on all who have, in her view, wronged her, Autobot and Decepticon alike. For all her piety and nobility, that is an end in pursuit of which she would contemplate almost any means.

Wields an energon bow in robot mode that shoots programmable projectiles with an effective range of 25 miles. Her Cybertronian gauss rifle altmode (she saw no point in getting it reconfigured) fires a focussed stream of molten metal at speeds of up to Mach 10. No known weaknesses.

Strength – 10

Intelligence – 10

Speed – 3

Endurance – 7

Rank – 10

Courage – 10

Firepower – 9

Skill – 10

* * *

Decepticon (Splinter faction) – Firetalon

Function – Security chief

"Trust is for sparklings and corpses."

Having the likes of Starscream and Skywarp as close relations can have tragic effects on one's faith in mech nature … To those who can earn her good opinion, Firetalon is a loyal, fierce, and empowering friend, but given the appreciable risk of being shot on a 'better safe than sorry' basis if anything about you triggers her twitchy alarm bells, few can be bothered crossing that threshold. She and Red Alert would make a cute couple if they were on the same side, and if she swung that way (which she doesn't). Military outlook, appreciates discipline and protocol. Despises the casual arrogance and lack of professionalism that Megatron and Starscream have brought to the Decepticon cause. Conversely, she has a sneaking regard for Optimus Prime as an effective and honest commander but is put off from defecting partly by his overly-idealistic stance, and mostly by her love for Moonshadow. Flies at speeds up to Mach 2. Equipped with incendiary shells and a molecular excitation ray that creates huge, dangerously volatile areas of inflammable air.

Strength – 7

Intelligence – 7

Speed – 9

Endurance – 6

Rank – 9

Courage – 9

Firepower – 8

Skill – 8


	4. Scylla and Charybdis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Autobots, Gems, and the few Decepticons willing to stick their necks out for Megatron struggle to forge an uneasy alliance, while Stryxia is almost ready to begin her experiment. Moonshadow has a guinea pig to suggest ...

**"So, you two can't get along unless you think I'm going to kill you."**

"ALERT: DECEPTICONS AT ARK ENTRANCE," announced Teletraan I, to a room full of grim, suspicious faces. "DO YOU WISH TO ACTIVATE FULL DEFENSIVE PROTOCOLS?"

"Negative, Teletraan," answered Optimus Prime, wearily, while surveying the scene on the security monitor. _Well, at least I can console myself there are few of them,_ he thought, having counted a mere four figures against the arid, rocky landscape of the Autobot base exterior. _That was only to be expected. In fact, I'm surprised there are that many._ "Give them clearance to enter," he ordered, and wondered if the semi-sentient computer was at all surprised to hear him say that. _I know I am._ If Teletraan I was surprised, though, or if it was at all critical of this bizarre command decision, it tactfully gave no sign as it opened the exterior hatch of the grounded space cruiser. As the Decepticons entered the airlock and commenced the walk to the command deck, Optimus pressed a switch on the comms panel, summoning to the viewscreen the image of a robotic head and shoulders: purple, angular, and faceless, other than a single large LED, and bearing the Decepticon sigil on its chest plate. Behind this figure was a window that looked out onto a panorama of high silver towers, domes, and elevated highways, beneath a starry sky in which the Earth was a mere dot. _Cybertron. It never gets any less painful, seeing our home planet so firmly in Decepticon hands … and yet here we are about to help them. Primus forgive me if this is one of those times when instinct should have come before reason and principle._

"Your friends … or colleagues, at all events, have arrived, Shockwave," he addressed the figure on the screen, coldly. "I trust they'll give me no cause to regret extending them this invitation."

"You would have been a complete fool not to," answered Shockwave, just as coldly and even more curtly, his LED eye flashing in time with the words. "If you would rescue your comrade, then logic would dictate that Soundwave and Stormbird are more motivated to achieve that than any of your rabble, being Obsidian's … parents," he explained, forcing out the last word as if it was something strange and distasteful to his austere, robotic instincts. "To exclude them from this mission-"

"Oh yeah, _real_ motivated," interrupted one of the smaller Autobots, with red bodywork, a horned helmet, and a tone of incredulous contempt. "That'll be why they both work for the side that wants her and all the rest of us Autobots dead, right? If that's what passes for parenting these-"

"Cliffjumper!" snapped Optimus, causing his comrade to resume a sullen silence. The same doubts had occurred to them all, of course, but they had agreed not to speak of them for the duration of this crisis. The warning was well-timed, as in the next second the new arrivals entered the Ark's command deck. Three of them were Decepticon Seekers, all with the same sleek, elegant, if vaguely demonic winged body-type, but one was a little smaller and slighter than her comrades, with smoother features, black and lilac bodywork, and a distraught expression. As for the male Seekers, one had a similar colour scheme to the female, but an expression that matched Cliffjumper for contempt, while his blue-armoured comrade merely looked stern and grim. The final robot was also blue, but with a completely different body-type, squarish and powerful, with his face half-hidden behind a silver mouth-plate. Having trailed in last he lingered around the doorway, distant even from his teammates.

"Such inspiring discipline, Prime," sneered Shockwave, while Cliffjumper seethed, but managed to resist the urge to shoot the screen. "This bodes ill for our chances, and I cannot say these numbers give me any great confidence either. Was this all the force you could muster, Thundercracker?" he asked, as he turned his attention to the meagre group of Decepticons. _So, Thundercracker's the acting leader of this sorry band,_ reasoned Optimus. _Understandable._ Although Soundwave was unquestionably far senior to the blue Seeker, being not only Megatron's intelligence officer but one of his oldest confidants, few Decepticons would follow him, his telepathy and closeness with the big boss giving him a not-undeserved reputation as an untrustworthy sneak. _One can only guess how being the father of an Autobot has affected his dire popularity, not that I'll complain if his intentions are sincere._

"Soundwave's still got his cassette scouts," answered Thundercracker, attempting to sound upbeat. "Okay, not Laserbeak. The cowardly little birdbrain decided to stay back at HQ, suck up to Starscream. Seems to think old Screamer's going to become the new boss, though if you ask me that's one lame hyper-horse he's backing. Oh, and Ratbat's actually making a bid for leadership, if you can believe that. It's total chaos back there. I'd say there's a damn good chance they'll have all killed each other by the time we can get Megatron back, even if we can."

"Hey, this sounds better and better to-" Cliffjumper began to remark, with cynical merriment, but before Prime could scold him again one of their alien guests beat him to the mark:

"Will you put a sock in it already?" said Garnet, managing a commendable disapproving frown in spite of her wide wraparound shades. "We've got Obsidian _and_ Pearl to think of as well, not to mention whatever they were all kidnapped for to worry about. Its been days now, and Amethyst and I have checked and double-checked the whole warp network and not found any sign of them. I'm not going to say no to _any_ help, but if you'd rather be sulking in a corner that's fine by me."

"Can I just ask," said the female Seeker, anxiously, while Cliffjumper gritted his teeth, "have there been any leads at all yet?" Garnet and Amethyst exchanged a helpless, defeated look, obviously wishing they had a better answer to give, and Optimus could only sympathise, but before the mood could sink any lower Perceptor intervened. The red and blue-bodied Autobot scientist was sitting at an auxiliary console, studying a screen of numerical data with his eyes, and a glass dish full of metallic shards with the huge magnification scope mounted on his shoulder. His voice was easily the most encouraging that had been heard in that room for some time, almost jovial:

"I believe, Stormbird, I can answer you in the positive there. If you'll gather round and indulge me for a moment." Stormbird eagerly hurried over to the console, followed by Optimus, the Gems, and the rest of the Decepticons. His audience assembled, Perceptor continued. "Now, no doubt our kidnappers were very clever and well-prepared. They'd acquired that Ilyushin aircraft, thoroughly if fraudulently documented, to make their landing and their getaway, and they'd equipped it with Cybertronian stealth technology to prevent their flight from being followed. All we could deduce was their rough course, back across the Atlantic, before all radar contact was lost. They took pains to cover their tracks … but one of them was careless. Instead of using an energy weapon, they used these flechettes which we found embedded in the cliff face," he explained, indicating the metal shards. "Nasty, primitive, and very characteristic. My metallographic analysis of the iron constituent, its trace impurities, to say nothing of its distinctive dendritic microstructure-"

"Hey, would a kick up the waste pipe make this boring junkheap get to the point?" interrupted the black and purple male Seeker, maliciously, but the 'humour' was not appreciated by anyone, even on his own team.

"Can it, Skywarp," ordered Thundercracker. "He'll get there quicker without you yapping."

"Yeah, let Poindexter finish," agreed Amethyst, while Perceptor frowned in stoical displeasure. " _I_ was following that … kind of … up to 'gather round,' anyway." A loaded pause ensued until Stormbird leaned forward and gently urged the peeved scientist to continue:

"Please. What did you find?" she asked, imploringly. Perceptor gave her a small, placated smile, punched a few buttons, and replaced the image on the screen with a computer-generated map: a European coastline with a large cluster of islands lying off it.

"The Cyclades island group, between the Greek peninsula and Anatolia," he declared. "The iron ore to fabricate these projectiles was mined somewhere around there, although to narrow it down any further is a matter of mere inference, I'm afraid. However, if we look to coordinates 36.059 north, 24.982 east, we find a sizable area of apparently empty sea which, if the shipping reports of the past several decades are to be believed, has gained the reputation of a mini 'Bermuda Triangle,' so to speak. Suffice it to say, all authorised flights and shipping shun those coordinates, and some of the locals have even taken to calling that area 'Scylla and Charybdis' … although I shall spare you the explanation for that mythological reference," he added, a little irritably, with a glance that managed to take in both Skywarp and Amethyst.

"I know the one you mean," said Stormbird, diplomatically. "Would I be right in thinking that an Ilyushin aircraft once went missing in that area?"

"You would indeed: a flight that went astray in a storm back in Earth year 1982. The pilot was one Lieutenant Sasha Raskova of the Soviet Air Forces, Military Transport Aviation. She was never recovered. Its call sign was different from the plane sighted at Beach City, but we can safely assume that was faked. As I said, it's all inference, merely circumstantial evidence if you will, but I think you must admit to it being a suspiciously remarkable coincidence."

"You've done brilliantly," she thanked him, while Perceptor allowed himself a small, well-deserved smile of self-satisfaction. "So that's where they've taken her, then … but do we know anything about _them_ yet?"

"Precious little, I'm afraid," answered Perceptor, while calling up the Beach City CCTV images on the monitor. "Possibly their approximate numbers, although I'll be surprised if what we see here represents their full force. We know their Earth altmodes, of course, but evidently they only transformed out of them on the beach, where there were no cameras and the only witness was a lone fisherman, and I can't say that he gave us a very lucid description of them. That gives us little clue as to their identities, other than them being Decepticons. Renegade Decepticons, it would seem."

"THOSE FLECHETTES," said Soundwave, his voice as flat and inflectionless as ever, his face unreadable, but his manner alert and intrigued as he pointed at the metal samples. "I HAVE SEEN THEIR LIKE BEFORE. THE FURICONS USED SUCH WEAPONS BACK ON CYBERTRON, AND THE NUMBERS CORRELATE."

"Aw, Sweet Primus, did you _have_ to say that?" asked Skywarp, miserably. "Those bitches from the depths of Unicron? I heard they'd all become mercs and fucked off to the far edges of the galaxy. I'd sure _hoped_ they had."

"A combiner team?" asked Stormbird. Optimus nodded, grimly. _For once, Skywarp,_ he thought, _you and I are in perfect sympathy._ "What about the sixth robot, though: the sports car? It doesn't look much like the rest of them. Does it ring any bells?" The rest of the Decepticons all looked clueless, and Optimus found himself in no position to enlighten them. _I've seen similar colours before on many mechs, but to tell them apart from an unfamiliar Earth altmode …_ Giving up the attempt, and with all due distaste, he turned back to the comms monitor and the live image of Shockwave.

"Do you have any records of Decepticon separatists still unaccounted for?" he asked. "A list of names might at least give us some idea-"

"A waste of time," replied the cyclops-faced Cybertron commandant, dismissively. "If the Furicons are involved, I know of only one deposed warlord to whom Ratrod would have allied herself, and that is Moonshadow. If that's so, I don't envy the captives' chances. That woman could nurse a vendetta through all eternity. This may prove a fool's errand before it has even begun."

"Cute name, though," remarked Amethyst, while Stormbird turned her face away in evident consternation, no doubt demoralised by Shockwave's tactlessness. "Who is she?"

"Millions of years ago, she was an important figure in the Decepticon cause," explained Optimus. "She was commander in chief to Lord Straxus of Darkmount, and his next in line, but she became a mere exile after Megatron took over all the Decepticon factions. Her resentment is a certainty … but she _did_ have a code of honour," he added, mainly to give Stormbird some solace. "As I recall, that was one of the reasons why she lost so much support. She has no love for Autobots, but she'd probably consider it beneath her to harm a prisoner who's done her no wrong. I've no idea what she wanted with Obsidian, but I doubt she kidnapped her on some sadistic whim," _which is more than I'd dare guess for why she took Megatron._

"And Pearl?" asked Garnet, concerned. "What could this warlord have wanted with her?"

"That I can't say either, except that she seems to know something of your people," _which is probably very bad news for us … but no need to demoralise everyone even further. At least Perceptor's given us a good lead._ "I suspect we'll learn no more without actually scouting that area," he said, pointing to Perceptor's coordinates, "but given the delicacy of the situation, I would sooner do so very discreetly. Their air and sea surveillance is obviously excellent."

"Hey, how about the Gem Sloop?" suggested Amethyst. "It's tiny, it's quiet. We could sail in by night, really get the drop on them." She was so earnest in her enthusiasm that Optimus hated having to burst her bubble _but needs must. I will not send my honoured guests on kamikaze runs._

"I'm afraid even a small, unpowered craft would register on their instruments," he answered. "This is a routine they must be used to by now. Based on Perceptor's data, their active presence on Earth long predates ours," _which is either strangely encouraging or just as strangely worrying that they haven't tried to conquer the Earth in all this time – certainly mysterious – but I'll worry about that later._ "Their defences are well established. Avoiding detection will be no easy matter."

"So much for that famous, plucky Autobot heroism," taunted Shockwave, with rather a lot of audacity for someone whose contribution to the battle so far amounted to video conferencing from a distant planetoid. "Skywarp: if we could determine the location of this base, or island, or whatever it is, you could teleport there from over two miles away, correct?" he asked, with an air of inspiration, although the Seeker in question looked less than inspired. _Try horrified._ "That at least would throw their sensors off, and give you time to disable their-"

"Come again? You want me to go in _alone_ , with at least five homicidal she-devils and one revenge-crazed warlord on the premises?" asked Skywarp, incredulously. "Fuck that for a game of sentinel drones. You want to play the big damn hero, feel free to come down here and-"

"You know very well that I cannot be spared from my duties on Cybertron," protested Shockwave, peevishly. "Your Leader needs you. If that means nothing to you, then I fail to see why you did not remain back at HQ with the rest of those treacherous cowards."

"Hey, I want the old bastard back as much as any of us. Probably way more than _her_ ," he added, with a contemptuous glance at Stormbird, who curled her metallic lip right back at him. "Doesn't mean I'm willing to die for him. He hasn't been all _that_ great a Leader."

"Pathetic, worthless Seeker trash, and you call yourself a warrior? With such troops as you, it's small wonder that an army of glorified cleaners and factory mechs have held us at bay for-"

"You want someone to sneak in?" interrupted Bumblebee. The small, yellow-armoured Autobot spy spoke coldly, no doubt as impressed at this little display of Decepticon solidarity as Optimus himself was. "I'll do it. Get a rough fix on where their base is, and Skyfire can drop me a mile or two off the shoreline. I'll drive in the rest of the way along the seabed. I'll bet that'll be a new one on their warning sensors." _Somehow, I knew you would, old friend,_ thought Optimus, sadly. It was a logical strategy – with his sub-aqua mods and superior vision Bumblebee was the natural choice of operative in spite of his combat weaknesses – but not one that it gave him any pleasure to authorise. "I might be able to use some technical assistance, though. Sabotaging ancient Decepticon security systems is probably a little over my head. Perhaps Wheeljack could set me up with some sort of encrypted communication system and talk me through it when the time comes."

"Not one that they wouldn't be sure to detect you using as well," pointed out a blonde-haired human woman in her early thirties. She was perched on the edge of a console at the back of the room opposite Teletraan I, and had so far escaped the Decepticons' notice, but having now seen her, Skywarp did not spare her a look of intense loathing, which she serenely ignored as she continued. "In any case, that's not likely to be a very quick or elegant way of-"

"And what in Cybertron would _you_ know, you dumb little Earth maggot?" asked Skywarp, venomously. "We're talking high-end Decepticon tech here, not bashing rocks together."

"Carly is a technical genius, even by our standards," Optimus explained, his tone stern and level, and just about managing to defuse a very nasty situation, as several Autobots had looked about ready to bash Decepticons together, and Amethyst had only refrained from summoning her whip due to Garnet laying a hand on her shoulder in a clear 'save it for later' gesture. "That said, Carly, if you're about to suggest what I think you-"

"But why not? Advanced electronics _and_ scuba diving are where I shine," she answered, brightly, and fully justifying his grim sense of foreboding. _Another brave, but very vulnerable friend putting herself in the firing line, and partly for Megatron's sake. I trust he'll appreciate the irony, at least, as I know they'll get no gratitude._ "Anyway, I'm quite familiar with Decepticon technology."

"If you seek reassurance, Skywarp, _I_ can vouch for that," put in Shockwave, icily and bitterly. "The time this Earthling female once spent on Cybertron testifies to her skills. The sabotage she committed here will not be soon forgotten. If she is willing to risk her life in this strategy, then I am _very_ willing to let her."

"I'm grateful, believe me … but don't you have a son?" pointed out Stormbird, giving voice to Optimus' own thoughts on the subject. Carly smiled, graciously if sadly, before replying:

"Yes, but Daniel won't be any safer in a world where renegade Decepticons are free to abduct whoever they please, and who knows what else they might be planning? Anyway, he has a good father," she added, with a quick glance in Soundwave's direction, innocuous enough but sufficient to make him turn away from her and edge a little further into the shadows.

"On that subject, we should contact Spike before making any decision," suggested Optimus, well aware he was clutching at straws, and it came as no surprise as Carly answered with a frown:

"Do you think I need my husband's permission to volunteer for an assignment? Anyway, if he can't talk me out of it then he'll only insist on coming too," she pointed out, significantly, _potentially leaving Daniel with no parents at all. Touché, I believe, is the phrase,_ thought Optimus, resignedly. "Spike and Daniel are away visiting his grandfather for the week. Let's not spoil their family time. We can sort this all out before then. We have to."

"Yeah, but no offence, girl," said Amethyst, sceptically. "If the place is swarming with these evil robot dudes and it does all go south, just the two of you on your own _are_ kind of sitting ducks. What you could really use is some good, old-fashioned, monster-trashing backup … please?" she finished, with a hopeful look at Garnet, who smiled archly as she replied:

"Great minds think alike, Amethyst. Got room for two more in the back, Bumblebee?"

"Err, for Amethyst, sure, but I am only a compact," answered Bumblebee, apologetically, as he surveyed Garnet's formidably tall physique. " _You_ might find it a bit on the cramped side, to say the least, and opening my windows won't be the best of options under the Mediterranean."

"Not a problem," declared Garnet, then suddenly glowed white and divided like a huge, shining amoeba into two cloudy forms. These vague shapes swiftly gathered around the two gems that had been embedded in the palms of her hands, and they solidified back into defined humanoid shapes, but far smaller than Garnet, both around four feet tall. The glow faded, revealing one of them as a red-skinned, dark haired woman in a simple uniform like an athletic unitard, with a red headband. The other was a woman with dark blue skin, long sky-blue hair, and a courtly-looking dress with short, puffed sleeves and thick petticoats that brushed the floor. _Of course, Ruby and Sapphire,_ thought Optimus, remembering the conversations he had once had with Rose Quartz about the remarkable transformation and combining abilities of Gems, that made their mechanical Cybertronian equivalents seem almost embarrassingly clunky and primitive. _Perhaps I ought to have confided in a few others about that,_ he mentally added, as he saw around the room various looks of awe, astonishment, and in a couple of instances brief terror. Gratifyingly, Skywarp was one of the latter cases. Sapphire's face was all but unreadable behind her long, thick fringe that left only her mouth visible, but Ruby was clearly enjoying the attention, and she basked in the silent stares of wonder for a few seconds before turning back to Bumblebee.

"Does _that_ work for you?" she asked, playfully. "Amethyst and Carly up front, two other titches in the back seat?"

"Hey, enough with the 'other,' Ruby," said Amethyst, with gentle reproach.

"Err, sure, that'll work," replied Bumblebee, his manner suggesting he was very open to the possibility that someone had spiked his last energon ration, but bravely deciding to ride the storm. "You should probably all get suited up and bring oxygen, though. My cabin's watertight, but accidents will happen … especially with Decepticons around."

"I doubt that'll be a problem for our Gem friends, somehow," said Carly, insightfully, as she lowered herself from her perch. "I'll definitely take your advice on that, though. Are we all set to go otherwise?"

"I believe so, unless Skyfire needs to make preparations," said Optimus, half-hopefully, and with a questioning look towards the huge, winged, white-and-red Autobot.

"None that I can think of, Prime," answered Skyfire, steadfastly and good-naturedly, and not cheering Optimus up in the slightest. "A little re-energising, perhaps, but as soon as Dr. Witwicky has made her own preparations I can take off and have our infiltration team to Perceptor's location in less than thirty minutes."

"Very good, then," remarked Optimus, without much heart. _The finest troops and the finest friends that a robot could ask for, all willing to put their lives on the line, but if any of them don't come back from this, I may just have to kill Megatron myself … assuming Moonshadow hasn't beaten me to it,_ he wondered, a little hopefully. "I suggest we reconvene here in twenty minutes, then. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me-" he began, with every intention of taking a copy of Perceptor's data to study in the tempting privacy of his own cabin, but Stormbird interrupted him. Her tone was polite and anxious, but it was a struggle for him to be sympathetic:

"Actually, Prime, I'd really appreciate a word." Optimus managed a resigned gesture by way of reply. "Err, somewhere more private than this?" she clarified, hopefully.

"Hey, what's the idea?" asked Skywarp, suspiciously. "You planning on selling us out, you miserable freak? I might've known-"

"Lay off her, Skywarp," cut in Thundercracker, severely. "I already told her she could."

"Yeah, _you_ would. You've been soft on this bitch ever since she came online, and you ain't the only one. She's got a way of twisting Decepticons who oughta know better around her filthy little digits, and look where it's got us. I mean, if it wasn't for her worthless whore of an Autobot daugh-" he began but was cut off by Soundwave's huge and powerful right hand suddenly clamping around his throat.

"SAY THAT AGAIN, SKYWARP," said Soundwave, his words somehow even more menacing for their completely unemotional delivery, "AND YOU NEED NOT WORRY ABOUT THE FURICONS. I CAN EVISCERATE YOUR ELECTROLYTIC CONDUITS JUST AS EASILY AS THEY-"

"And knock that off too!" growled Thundercracker. Soundwave obediently released his comrade but took the opportunity to give him a quick push as he did so, sending him sprawling with a loud clatter across the metal deck plates. "Bottom line, I told Stormbird she could talk with Prime if she wants to, and though it's none of your business, I reckon some of you'll be pleased about it soon enough. I can't say I was, but it's her affair."

"Very well," agreed Optimus, without much enthusiasm, but it was preferable to encouraging any more of this disgraceful and demoralising bickering. "Follow me, Stormbird," he instructed, and led the way out of the command deck and into a small storeroom, where he sealed the bulkhead behind them. "Now, did I catch the gist of that correctly?" he asked, as soon as he was confident that they were unheard. "You wish to defect?" _Something I should perhaps have encouraged her to do a long time ago, yet if she had, Obsidian would never have born. Primus works in mysterious ways. If it is his will, not for me to reason why, but Stormbird will not find acceptance easy to come by here._ Her answer, which came after careful consideration, was thus rather a relief to him:

"Not exactly … but this _is_ going to be my last mission as a Decepticon. If we save Megatron, it can be my way of paying him back for what he's done for me, then I can at least desert without feeling I owe him." _What he's done for you?_ thought Optimus, incredulously. _Forcing you to undergo transference surgery, vaporising your organic body, cutting you off from your own people, from your own family, surrounding you with a gang of thugs, sadists, and degenerates who despise even themselves? Does any of this require paying back?_ His emotions must have shown in his manner, the slight tilt of his head, as she immediately strove to explain herself. "I don't _regret_ being this way, Prime, and I think Megatron did see it as a genuine privilege for me, even if it was a punishment as well. It has been. I've had experiences I couldn't even have imagined before, travelled to alien worlds, had my _daughter_ , let's not forget … and I'll need you to break this to her, whenever you think the time is right, and to the rest of my family. I'll have to leave Earth and Cybertron, so the chances I'll ever see them again … Obsidian would probably want me to join the Autobots, but both you and I know that's not going to be possible," she added, sadly. "Skyfire defected, I know, but he'd only been a Decepticon for a matter of hours, he did nothing wrong in that time, and he only joined them in the first place because he somehow mistook them for the good guys. I've been a Decepticon for fourteen years, I joined them as a criminal and a fugitive, and I've done a whole load of work for them since … including mass murder. After all that, I can't really see me fitting in around here, can you?"

"I had my doubts, admittedly, but perhaps they were ill-founded," he answered, gravely. "I'd heard about the incident you refer to, of course: the girls' school, and those militiamen. Obsidian told me of it in detail. I question your definition of it, but I understand your feelings. As you know, I too was not built for war. I was remade this way after almost becoming the murder victim of a war crime myself." _Megatron's, in fact, but let's not dwell on that._ "The earliest occasions I had to kill – and I've killed many more times than you – were in similar circumstances: in the aftermath of Decepticon raids, where innocent civilians were left killed, raped, maimed, or being dragged off to slavery. When my comrades and I found those responsible, it was rare that we showed them much more mercy than a clean termination. I will not say those killings did not weigh heavily on me, and I have perhaps learned more control over my emotions since – bearing in mind I _am_ over nine million years old – but I still recognise the difference between righteous anger and mere bloodlust. Don't think of yourself the way Megatron wants you to, Stormbird. You're better than him … than all of them, in fact, though I am curious what sort of ally Thundercracker made on this mission. It must have been disconcerting for him to say the least, being your 'wingman' while you were saving human children from slavery and torture. I only hope he wasn't too much of a burden."

"Thundercracker's okay," she replied, earnestly. "Really, he was great about it. He helped me evacuate the kids to the UNICEF facility and everything. I think he enjoyed being kind of the good guy for once … but he's told me a few times, he's often had doubts about the way the Decepticon cause has become too ruthless even for its own good." _Indeed? Would that he had ever shown the courage to act on those doubts, then,_ thought Optimus, harshly, but allowed her to continue. "You should get to know him, seriously. He's bound to have more influence in the group after this, at least if we get Megatron back. Starscream will be lucky to keep his life, never mind his rank. There are others worth getting to know, too. Okay, so we didn't exactly split up on a warm note, but Soundwave's got his good side, not to mention his daughter's already working for … Did I say something funny?" she asked, confusedly, as he failed to stifle a small, mainly ironic chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I was just remembering something Rose Quartz once said to me, after I first met you: she urged me to welcome the possibility that you could be some kind of diplomat in this interminable war. I was sceptical … I still am, but I won't disdain your advice. This _is_ literally as close as we've come to a peace treaty in countless centuries. Still, I can't help but think our best chance at peace is if we find Megatron dead on arrival, if you'll forgive a harsh observation."

"I know what you mean, though I kind of hope the opposite. He _is_ still the best realistic choice to lead them. Thundercracker doesn't even want the job, and Starscream or Blitzwing, or most any of the other contenders would be a nightmare for everyone. At least Megatron's pragmatic enough to listen to reason. Besides … there was a moment, not long after I'd been converted, when he opened up to me a bit. He's never done it since – even when he's tried to be nice, it's been all falseness and smarm – but for just a few minutes he was genuine. I could see what he'd once been: still arrogant and ambitious, yes, but really caring about his people, angry how the Council had treated them, and frustrated they weren't doing more to stand up for themselves, until he took the lead. I hoped somehow I'd get him to open up more often, remember where he came from." _Where he came from,_ thought Optimus, his scepticism back with force. _Is she just incurably naïve, or I am as jaded and cynical as Megatron in my own way? Or, as with most things in this universe, is it a little of both?_

"It _is_ possible I've never seen him at his best," conceded Optimus. "Primus knows, he never felt the need to show me any other than his worst … but as for his origins, I take it you are aware he was constructed after the times of slavery, when Decepticons such as Shockwave and Moonshadow were already contemplating rebellion? Megatron has never known oppression, nor true suffering. He was designed by Decepticons, who were already machines of war, to be the perfect Decepticon, and he has never let them forget it. If he was frustrated with his people, I fear it was only because they were not living up to his standards of ruthlessness and brutality, hence why he took them all over, terminated his rivals, and even stooped to brainwashing once quite reasonable members of his faction, such as the Constructicons. I am truly not sure what good quality you hope to revive in him."

"You might be right," she answered, reluctantly. "Still, that reminds me of something the Gems once told _me_ : part of the reason they tried to colonise Earth was the abundance of quartz. As a raw material for creating new members of their kind, it makes the best and strongest Gem soldiers; Amethysts, Jaspers, Carnelians … and more than a few of them were arrogant, egotistical bastards, having this label of 'super soldier' on them right from birth, never having known weakness, knowing they existed for only one destructive purpose and always desperate to prove they were worthy of it. Not nice company … but then you've got _our_ Amethyst, and Rose Quartz herself, who somehow rose above that. I'd like to believe he could do the same. That's probably silly of me … but at any rate, I know I'll do nothing to encourage it if I betray him when I owe him so much. A girl doesn't get made immortal very often in her life, as a rule."

"Much as I question whether you _do_ owe him anything, your honour does you credit. Nevertheless, you intend not to remain as a Decepticon yourself, nor to defect? May I ask where you plan to go?"

"There's this planetoid called Lithone I was thinking of, not too many parsecs away. Nice stable binary system, diverse cybernetic ecosystem, abundant geothermal energy. I really like the culture, the music, I've been studying their language, not to mention there's no shortage of engineering jobs to be had there. Getting a reference might be a bit hard as an ex-Decepticon, of course. Nothing ventured, though."

"I know it. A charming world. You would probably find a welcome there, only … and I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but if we _do_ end up restoring Megatron to his throne, so to speak, I would sooner you remained as a Decepticon," he announced, causing her red eyes to widen. "My fear has long been that they would corrupt you while you would exert no good influence whatsoever on them. Such has apparently not been the case. Rose Quartz was right about that, anyway. Perhaps it would honour her memory, at least, if I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Though I see little hope of peace, I see none whatsoever if the few reasonable Decepticon voices jump ship."

"Just as well we had this chat in private, then," Stormbird remarked, wryly. "I'm sure Skywarp would be thrilled at the idea of me staying a Decepticon on Optimus Prime's recommendation, of all people. I hardly believe it myself … but thank you. I can't say I was looking forward to never seeing my daughter or my folks again. That's if we can save Obsidian from these renegades, of course. If there's anything at all I can do to help-"

"I know, Stormbird, and I'm grateful for it. You may also convey my thanks to Thundercracker, if you wish, and to Soundwave, if you and he are still on speaking terms."

"I will. Well, I guess we're almost ready to start. May I fly there with Skyfire?"

"Meaning no disparagement to your skill or courage, but I'd sooner you didn't. These other Decepticons are wily and patient. Even one passing aircraft might raise their alert status, however discreetly Skyfire manages his manoeuvre. Two aircraft certainly would, and as Amethyst put it, I would far sooner get the drop on them than blunder into a trap."

"Understood. I'll keep an eye on the others, then," she suggested, while pressing the door control again and stepping out into the corridor. "I'll try to make sure Skywarp and Rumble don't get so bored with all the waiting that they take a hike into Central City for a little light terrorism. I'm really sorry about that scene back there."

"Hardly your fault, and my friends were not entirely innocent," he admitted, as he recalled Cliffjumper's less-than-helpful contributions. "At least we _are_ working together for once, after a fashion. Let's just hope that's one thing our new, mutual enemy won't have expected."

* * *

Moonshadow studied the component that Pearl had handed her, holding it between her thumb and her index finger. It was cylindrical, with a transparent body and silver metal caps at both of its ends. Relatively speaking it was tiny, no bigger than a pill capsule in her hand, _yet this is to contain a spark?_ she thought, doubtfully. _Somehow, it seems almost blasphemous._

"You are certain that this will be strong enough?" she asked. "Your engineering looks accomplished, and it appears to comprise all the elements of a laser core, albeit drastically miniaturised, but will it be able to withstand the energies?"

"With respect, Lady Moonshadow," replied Pearl, as formally as ever, "your own laser cores are ridiculously over-sized for the job they need to do, and far too big to be installed in the cybergrafts' bodies anyway. Based on our readings, though, a stable life-spark is rather a subtle phenomenon, with no raging energies that need to be powerfully contained. This more than suffices."

"Now, be fair, Pearl," said Stryxia, without turning her gaze from the command deck science console where she was poring over screens of data, no doubt Teletraan I's. "If _our_ laser cores were as tiny as this one we'd have one hell of a fiddly job if we ever needed to service them. She's not wrong, though, Moonshadow: that little component will be the saving of all our subjects and of my conscience. We have much to thank Pearl for."

"I have no doubt of it," replied Moonshadow. Pearl bowed in acknowledgement of the praise, but with marked coldness. _Firetalon was right: her suspicions run high, even now. It is probably for the best that we will not need her help much longer._ "What of the data? Were you able to obtain everything you needed to replicate this Autobot experiment?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure it's all here. Quite easy to find, really, Autobots being nothing if not predictable. I had a hunch Prime would have ordered Wheeljack to delete it all, deciding it was too dangerous and unethical to keep a record of, and so he had, but only the file references. He's a genius in his way, old Wheeljack, but his own maker couldn't call him tidy. The actual data was still all present on Teletraan's hard drive. It has such a huge capacity that it was in little danger of ever being overwritten."

"Complete data, no loss or corruption?"

"None that I can see, though it _will_ need some refining. It looks as though the single human-to-Autobot transference they attempted didn't exactly go smoothly, but that was probably only a small miscalibration. With Pearl's help, I'm confident we can get started on transferring the first generation of cybergrafts to their laser cores this evening … That's not a problem, is it?" she asked Pearl, beseechingly, as their Gem guest looked less than elated at the suggested plan. "I mean, there haven't been any more signs of mental degeneration yet, knock on composite cellulose fibres, but the threat of it's hanging over us every astro-second, and we'll eliminate it far more quickly together. I know we've asked a lot of you already-"

"No, no, you're right," said Pearl, wearily. "I'm just uncomfortable with that spy relay still being wired up to the Gem Communication Hub. I'd have preferred to have deactivated it as soon as possible … not that I distrust you," she added, hastily and not very convincingly, "but we _did_ agree not to hack the Autobots any more than we needed to."

"That will have to wait anyway, Pearl," declared Firetalon, looking up from the security console. "This island's on lockdown right now, condition blue."

"Explain that status," ordered Moonshadow, while carefully concealing her relief. _Well timed, my love. That spares me having to invent a pretext._

"An aerial contact on the rangerscope, some four kilometres to the west. It could be anything, of course, and it didn't linger … but since we _have_ just raided both enemy Cybertronian factions, maximum prudence should be our watchword."

"Agreed, and you'd better let the Furicons know to keep a weather eye open … only don't get them too excited," she added, on reflection. "As you say, it's probably nothing, and I don't want them forming Boneyard and trashing half the island without exceptionally good reason." Firetalon nodded, turned back to her console, and pressed a communicator switch. While she was passing the orders along, Moonshadow turned back to Pearl and Stryxia. "In the meantime, I suggest you two make preparations for the transference procedures. By the time those are done, Pearl, with any luck our little security alert will be over, and Firetalon will be free to take you anywhere you wish."

"I might not even need her to take me anywhere, if you'd only let me have a try at repairing the warp pad here," complained Pearl, giving Moonshadow a fresh stab of anxiety. "I could warp to the Communication Hub and dismantle the relay then without compromising your-"

"And how long might that take, Pearl?" asked Stryxia, impatiently, and again much to Moonshadow's relief. "Anyway, how much illicit hacking do you honestly think I'm going to get done while we're working flat out to save the cybergrafts, unless of course you think my concern for them and my remorse is a complete load of- ?"

"Of course not," answered Pearl, her tone reassuringly subdued. "I guess we _can_ leave it a bit longer, then, but I think we can all agree the sooner the better. How about _I_ set up the nanoprinter to produce enough laser cores for everyone, _you_ clean up this test data, and if Firetalon can spare us any time, then she can come up with a personnel list in order of risk and priority?"

"Excellent," declared Moonshadow. "Attend to it, please." As soon as Pearl had left the command deck, and her footsteps had dwindled a satisfactory distance down the corridor to Stryxia's laboratory, she turned back to her science officer. "One other thing we'll need, Stryxia, which I didn't care to broach in front of our guest: a test run for the new cores. I would sooner none of our faithful servants had to run the risk of being our proof of concept."

"I'm afraid we don't really have a choice there, as far as I can see," said Stryxia, apologetically. "I'm sure the risk is minimal – certainly a lot less than the risk of leaving the poor creatures to rot with my half-arsed neural networks and no laser cores – but unless you've another compatible test subject in mind-"

"I have, in fact. A spark is just a spark, didn't you say?" _and this particular spark deserves to be extinguished a million times over. If it serves my purposes to extend it mercy, however, so be it … not that I'm at all sure he will interpret it as mercy._

* * *

_And now, in this episode's edition of Gratuitous OC Tech Spec …_

Decepticon – Stormbird

Function – Engineer and freelance 'diplomat'

"Unjust laws are made to be disintegrated."

Former graduate student and environmentalist anarchist Gail Adler learned the hard and strange way that Megatron does not appreciate backchat even (or perhaps especially) from would-be martyrs. Mind-swapped initially into a powerless, disarmed female Seeker body, she was later – and with grave reluctance on her new leader's part – given her weapons and powers, and granted full, if low-ranking Decepticon status after a hideously botched mission ended in her and the Crystal Gems saving everyone's metallic hides.

While Megatron prefers to believe he now has her satisfactorily broken to his will, what really keeps Stormbird from defecting is her awareness that her rebellious ways – although based in principle – would never do with Optimus Prime, and his by-the-book adherence to human laws. Since the Decepticon cause, at least in theory, is a broad church of rebels and misfits, she feels more at home there, and her example has started to affect others of the rank and file, reminding them of a long-distant time when their movement, though anarchic and frequently ruthless, was still honourable at core. She even entertains hopes of helping Megatron reconnect with his freedom fighter roots: an ambition literally everyone else sees as painfully naïve, Megatron more than any.

Flies up to 1500mph in linear speed but can exceed that with her signature move: a spiralling flight pattern that can generate concentrated hurricane-force winds, quickly sowing chaos on any battlefield. Armed with plasma rifles and chemical smoke rockets to hamper enemy visibility. A reluctant fighter at best, but when her sense of justice is offended she is still capable of turning her abilities to deadly effect.

Strength – 7

Intelligence – 9

Speed – 9

Endurance – 6

Rank – 2

Courage – 9

Firepower – 6

Skill – 8


	5. Fusion Non-Canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crystal Gems and Autobots launch their raid on Aeaea, but when their plans go awry are forced to resort to desperate measures.

**"I can see you hate the way we intermingle (but I think you're just mad 'cause you're single)."**

_This might not the safest thing to do,_ thought Carly, as she removed her scuba mask for a clearer look out of Bumblebee's windows. The gloom of the sea depths and the night sky far above was alleviated by his headlights and a beam that Ruby shone from the gem embedded in her left palm, to improve their view from the side windows. _Still, when else am I going to get a car safari tour of the Mediterranean seabed?_ Verdant meadows of seagrass; silvery shoals of fish; colourful, fractal-shaped sea fans; and even the occasional barnacle-encrusted wreck of an ancient wooden galley drifted smoothly by, Bumblebee handling the rugged terrain far better than any earthly VW Beetle could have done, even without the extra inconvenience of several tons of water pressure. After a short but fascinating journey, the ground began to even out considerably and slope upwards, and Bumblebee extinguished his lights.

"Better kill that light, Ruby," he advised, and the small Gem soldier instantly complied, leaving them with only the illumination of the dashboard lights. "The shore's only about half a mile away, so let's not risk sending them signals."

"A wise precaution," agreed Sapphire, sagely. "Nevertheless, I foresee a battle." Her tone was so solemn, and her choice of words so precise, that Carly knew at once this was more than a casual observation on the unlikelihood of a peaceful resolution, never a very likely thing where Decepticons were concerned. _That wasn't what she meant at all. She meant something specific, and soon._

"Is that one of your Gem powers?" she asked her. "You can predict the future?"

"To an extent, Dr. Witwicky. A woman of your field might prefer to think of it as an innate capability for advanced probability calculations incorporating stochastic processes. Obviously, the more variables that are at play, the trickier it is to fix a premonition that is both detailed and accurate, but the battle is a certainty, and soon."

"Oh boy, so much for getting the drop on them," remarked Amethyst, dryly. "Is it too much to hope that we win, Saph?"

"The outcome is vague, but that is not what disturbs me," replied Sapphire, her turn of phrase making everyone sit up and take notice. Even Bumblebee seemed to jolt a little underneath them. "What troubles me more is that I sense it will not be a battle against Cybertronians. I feel profoundly … that it will be against our own kind." Neither Ruby nor Amethyst had a ready answer for that, other than mute looks of surprise, and it was left to Bumblebee to fill the void:

"Err, this friend of your who was captured … You're quite sure about her loyalt- ?"

"Pearl wouldn't betray us!" protested Ruby, with indignation.

"Damn straight," agreed Amethyst, but added, on reflection, "unless these bad robots have hypnotised her or reprogrammed her or something like that, I guess. Is that possible?"

"For White Diamond, or a being of equivalent mental powers, certainly," answered Sapphire, "but it is difficult to imagine why such a powerful being would need to operate so secretly. I'm sorry, I only wish I could be more specific."

"Well, I don't know much about this Moonshadow, I admit," said Bumblebee, aiming for as tactful a tone as possible. "She was a bit before my time, but from what I've heard, she wasn't much like Megatron. She could be persuasive, and not just in the 'help me conquer the Earth and we'll split the spoils' kind of way. She had a way of convincing people they'd be doing the right thing by signing up with her, even a few Autobots. I remember Perceptor telling me about this scientist he once knew from Iacon. Moonshadow talked her into defecting, becoming her own science officer by persuading her that she'd have free rein to use her knowledge for good in a Decepticon empire. Of course, I don't know Pearl very well either, but- … ouch! Hey, go easy with those infrared emissions, Ruby," he urged, and Carly herself felt the heat rising in the small cabin, and noticed an acrid, smoky smell. Turning her head, she saw Ruby sitting in the back in a tense posture, her fists clenched, her teeth gritted, and small wisps of smoke wafting from where the seat made contact with her body. "That upholstery's sensitive."

"Pearl … wouldn't … betray … us," repeated Ruby, very emphatically. "She wouldn't fight her own friends after spending a few days with some lousy Decepticon warlord. I don't know what Sapphy saw, but it couldn't have been-"

"We'll find out soon enough, but can I have some quiet for now?" interrupted Bumblebee, lowering his own voice and reducing his speed. "We're surfacing in a few seconds." The heat of Ruby's anger quickly dissipated, and the whole cabin fell into an alert silence as the pale, sickly, water-filtered moonlight and the sound of lapping water and breaking waves rapidly increased, then the sea slipped away on both sides of them like a black, shiny garment, and in almost perfect silence they trundled onto a sandy beach, backed by shallow cliffs and dense, deciduous forests. Secluded as it seemed, Bumblebee was evidently taking no chances, and he continued driving up to the cliffs and into a cave. Once inside, and well out of the reach of the moonlight, he parked and opened his doors.

"Okay, everyone out now," he whispered. "The radar's nice and dead, but let's play it safe." The Gems all lowered themselves onto the rock floor of the cave as quietly as possible, and Carly did likewise, noticing the odd texture of the floor in the process. _Smooth, bulbous formations, like cooled lava. Remnants of an ancient eruption, perhaps? Strange the sea hasn't worn it away, though._ When they were all out, Bumblebee transformed, slightly more slowly than usual to reduce the noise.

"So far so good," said Carly, not entirely honestly. Not that she would have criticised Bumblebee, but she was less than elated at his choice of hideout, not just for the curious terrain but for the faint, bitter miasma that hung in the air. "What's our best course of action now?"

"Well … I guess we head north and try to keep under cover," suggested Bumblebee, uncertainly. "The quick scan Skyfire took of this place seemed to hint that the greatest energy readings came from there. I guess that's where we'll find the security systems, if anywhere."

"Yes, the old landing strips," remarked Sapphire, instantly drawing surprised looks from all and sundry. Realising she had got ahead of herself, she apologised. "Forgive me, I recognised the scenery. I _have_ been to this island, once before, as have you, Ruby. The Eyrie was located here."

"What was that? Some kind of Gem stronghold?" asked Bumblebee, causing Sapphire to slightly break her serene demeanour with a small, derisory smile.

"Hardly _that_ , Bumblebee. Merely a … 'service station' in the terms of this world, a place for ships to refuel and repair. As we mainly used warp travel, even for interstellar transit, it must have been a somewhat lonely and tedious assignment for the Nephrites stationed here, but Ruby and I once stopped here on a dropship tour of the colony, as Earth then was, before reporting to Blue Diamond. If Moonshadow has now taken it as a base of operations, she will almost certainly have landed her ship on the old runways."

"So how come I've never been here?" asked Amethyst.

"A damaged warp pad, perhaps? It's by no means impossible that there are many compromised and incomplete Gem facilities which we have yet to-"

She was interrupted by three sounds in quick succession: a shrill, birdlike screech; a hissing, crackling sound like an overheated frying pan; and Bumblebee crying in pain again, more sharply than before. The first two sounds had come from the cave entrance, and all heads now turned in that direction to see a huge, monstrous, chimeric form eerily illuminated in the moonlight. It was over twenty feet long, with a segmented dark green body supported on a myriad of spindly little legs. For a tail, it had a vicious-looking pair of serrated pincers, which coordinated quite well, if hideously, with its large, sharp-toothed beak. Around its neck was a voluminous mane of white hair, as if whichever deranged god had come up with it had decided to chuck a bit of lion DNA into the mix, just because. Taking this bizarre mashup even further, its back was encrusted with green gems, and although it lacked any exterior eyes, right at the back of its beak, where any normal creature would have had a throat, a large, round, pale green stone was embedded, with a black central band and a circle that moved around, like a pupil, scanning the cave's inhabitants. Green saliva dripped from its saw-toothed jaws, hissing and steaming as it made contact with the sand and rocks. Turning to Bumblebee, Carly saw that he was clutching his right forearm in evident pain, and that the once shiny, yellow metal now had a warped and corroded look. _That solves the mystery of the melted rocks,_ she thought, while instinctively backing out. _If it could do that to an Autobot, then I dread to think what-_ As if in telepathic answer, or more in likely in simple bestial rage, the monster sprayed another burst of its acidic spittle into the cave, hitting the place where she had just been standing, turning the rock into lava, and also singeing the edge of Sapphire's dress, causing her to emit a piteous moan. _I guess her clothes are just as much a part of her holographic form as her body._ Seeing her long-term lover and fusion partner in pain instantly ignited Ruby's ardour, as a fiery aura sprung up around her body, a red metallic gauntlet materialised on her right hand, and a look of intense rage crossed her face.

" _You leave my Sapphy alone_!" she roared, before launching herself like a fireball at the monster. It tried to fend her off with another corrosive blast, but the already-blazing and presumably heat-resistant Gem soldier swept straight through the liquid, which sprayed harmlessly onto the cave walls, and caught the creature a powerful blow in the middle of its serpentine body. It reeled backwards and went sprawling on the beach, where it writhed in a dazed fashion for a few seconds but recovered all too quickly, while Ruby backflipped into the cave again, her aura fading. She landed with gymnastic grace and surveyed the results of her attack with dismay.

"Crud," declared Amethyst, succinctly, as she summoned her three-tailed, gem-encrusted whip. "Good try, but not quite enough, Ruby, though I guess this explains how we come to be fighting our own kind, and why nothing showed on the radar. What's one more rock on a whole beach?"

"That thing's a Gem?" asked Carly, incredulously, as the centipedal horror advanced again, its demeanour more cautious than before, but no more friendly.

"Indeed," answered Sapphire, with only a faint waver in her serene voice betraying her pain. "One of the station attendants must have failed to evacuate before the Corrupting- … Oh dear," she added, as several smaller, hairless versions of the creature began swarming up the beach after it, all crowding around the cave mouth and screeching aggressively. "It has children … clone projections," she clarified. "Weaker, with no gems of their own, but still quite deadly. You and Bumblebee should probably-" she began to suggest, with a concerned air, but was interrupted by a strident, clashing sound and a bright orange beam that caused one of the corrupted creatures to evaporate in a puff of white smoke. Following the beam to its source, Carly saw that Bumblebee had drawn a laser pistol with his uninjured arm which he continued firing, picking off more of the smaller beasts but only causing the large one to flinch back a little and screech more furiously. "That seems fairly effective, but not against the Centipeetle Mother, alas."

"No kidding, Saph. Might be time for you two to get it together again," suggested Amethyst, then added, slyly, "unless you want me to have _all_ the fun, of course. This is just what I've been waiting for … _You'd_ better chill at the back of the cave for now, though," she advised Carly, while lashing out with her whip and entangling a smaller Centipeetle that had been naively trying to ambush her by crawling along the ceiling. "Brains are great and all, but right now-"

"Violence _is_ the answer," said Garnet's voice, calmly but dangerously, and as Carly turned and hurried into the deeper shadows she just caught a glimpse of the newly reformed fusion, the white light fading from around her, her expression determined, as she summoned her star-emblazoned gauntlets. _Good idea, they'll do fine without me,_ she thought, as she unclipped the small dive torch from her belt, shone it ahead of her, and plunged into the darkness. _They know what they're dealing with, they've got the superpowers, and they sure as hell don't need the extra challenge of tripping over my half-melted corpse. Geez, this cave goes for miles._ As she proceeded, the torchlight revealed the side walls narrowing, and occasional passages branching off, but no actual back wall was in evidence. _Better not go too far, though,_ she decided, as the sound of the battle was already fading somewhat behind her. _A healthy distance is all very well, but this wouldn't be the greatest of places to get cut off from- … What in the world?_

A small, faint red light was shining some yards ahead of her, roughly at eye level. She had already slowed her pace, and she now stopped completely, while extinguishing her torch, _just in case, though I'll be very lucky if … I'm not lucky,_ she realised, dismally. For the small red light, which she could now see was two lights alongside each other, had tilted slightly, and a thin, dark shape in its immediate vicinity had shifted in posture. She had just started to back away slowly, making as little noise as possible for whatever good that could do now, when a savage screech, alien yet now horribly familiar, erupted from right behind her. _Shit, one of those Gem mutants must have creeped into the tunnel after me. Talk about Scylla and-_

"Get down, quickly," ordered a woman's voice, cold and clipped, as the red-eyed figure straightened up and produced a curious weapon: an extendable silver arc like a longbow, but with a glowing strand of energon instead of a string. As Carly threw herself to the ground, the mystery archer swiftly drew and released her bow, there was a dazzling pink streak that flew so close over Carly's head that she felt an intense rush of heat and a crackle of electricity, then from behind her came another screech, shortly followed by a puff and a blast of cold air as the Centipeetle expired. "You can get up now, but be sensible," advised the archer, sternly, while advancing a few steps. Carly complied, and by the light of the woman's weapon was able to get a much better look at her. To judge from the polished bronze tone of her 'skin,' the lines that segmented it into rigid plates, her glassy red eyes, and the sigil stamped at the base of her neck, she was some description of Decepticon, but of merely human size and proportions. _Honestly, she looks more like Megatron got bored and cultured one day and decided to make himself a naked Artemis action figure. True to form, one that packs a punch,_ Carly reminded herself, as the metal woman took a small, dart-like object from a canister attached to her waist. As she held it near the bow, it seemed to draw energon from the 'string,' forming a glowing shaft behind it, but instead of releasing this 'arrow' the archer just held it there as a clear incentive for Carly not to try anything stupid. _No way this is going to go well for me, but I might as well be gracious about it. I didn't really fancy being melted to death, after all._

"Err, thank you," she began, tentatively. "I sure owe you-"

"Your debt is with my mistresses," cut in the archer, curtly. "A savage beast though it is, the Nephrite knows not to attack the Three and their subjects. As a rule, intruders must take their chances, but tonight you are fortunate: the commander was expecting an intrusion and ordered me to patrol. Perhaps you'd care to explain your presence here … if you think there's any point." In fact, Carly thought there was none, but she gave it a half-hearted stab:

"I, err … got caught in currents … and was washed ashore here," she ventured, receiving an almost pitying look for her pains, though the arrow remained squarely aimed at her head. _Quite right. Fifteen years at MIT and that's the best I can do? My brain obviously needs an airing._ Heaving a sigh, she let her head slump forwards in a defeated posture.

"Indeed, I did notice that you're bone-dry," remarked the strange Decepticon. "Also, that your friends are having a very noisy battle not a hundred yards away. Oh, don't depend on them for help," she added, as Carly turned her head to look back down the tunnel, desperately rather than hopefully. "As I said, we were on high alert, not that we'd have needed to be to notice such a ruckus. A welcome party, you could say, has been sent to greet your friends, and that Nephrite will be the least of their troubles erelong. They may well not be as lucky as you … not that I'm not tempted to kill you, spy and Autobot sympathiser as you are, but the Three will want to question you, and I recommend _total_ cooperation. Move," she ordered, and gestured with the point of her arrow towards one of the branching tunnels.

"If you insist," said Carly, resigned but resentful, as she trudged in the indicated direction, picking her steps carefully with only the flickering strand of pink energon to light her way over the rocks. "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to be thrilled to see me, but I can't see any reason why a human being _wouldn't_ be an Autobot sympathiser, as you put-"

"The betrayers of Cybertron's heroes? The murderers of Lady Moonshadow's kin?" she asked, with incredulous contempt. "How should I not hate them and their allies? My mistresses, in their humility, tell me they are not goddesses, and that I should not think of them as such. I understand what they mean, scientifically … but in my heart, I have only revered them more with each passing century. It could not be otherwise. They outshine every idea I once held of gods. My childish ideas of Zeus, Hera, and the rest fell _far_ short of the glory and power of the Three, and their generosity. To oppose them is not just crime, but blasphemy." _Zeus and Hera? I guess that can only mean one thing, and that sure as hell means trouble for us._

"You were once human?" she guessed, to which the cybernetic being responded matter-of-factly, with perhaps a nuance of distaste:

"Yes. Once – aeons ago, it seems – I was a pathetic boy by the name of Siproites. By the grace and mercy of the Thr- … What now?" she asked, irritably, as Carly stopped in her tracks and looked back at her with surprise.

"I've heard of you … in legend, anyway." _Just when you think you'll never get any use out of your minor in Classics._ "Something about a hunter from Crete who saw Artemis bathing, and was punished by being turned into one of her handmaidens, as far as I remember it."

"Either the legend or your memory is stupidly at fault, then. I was not 'punished' at all. For a very small service I paid them, the Three ordained that I should become a cybergraft, and in remaking me, they corrected the mistake of my birth. Also, I was woefully unfit to be called a hunter then, but that too has changed. My name is now Trueshot, and you would do well to note it was well-earned. See this bow? It was given to me by Lady Moonshadow herself to mark the five hundredth year of my rebirth, in token not only of my service but of how much I am trusted. The Three have been everything to me: goddesses, queens, as close as I've ever had to parents worthy of the name. They even tell me one day I shall call them sisters. Their enemies are mine, you may be sure of that."

"In that case, I'm happy for you," replied Carly, sincerely if very sceptically. "I've never known Decepticons to be particularly generous, though."

"Then I pray that you will. They are certainly your only hope of mercy from this point. Now, keep walking."

* * *

"Hey, either of you seen Carly?" asked Bumblebee, loudly, though he was aware this might not be the best of times. The battle had now moved onto the open beach, and although the small Centipeetles had all been vaporised, the Mother was still very much active, though writhing furiously in the coils of Amethyst's whip. Amethyst herself was doing her best to keep the creature restrained, while dodging the occasional gobs of acid it spat at her, while Garnet was trying to find an opening to attack it, but not having much luck on account of said acid and the frequent lashing out of its pincers. Considering they clearly had little-to-no attention to spare, Bumblebee thought it a fine testimony to their concern for humanity that they even bothered to answer him.

"Isn't she in the cave?" asked Amethyst. "I told her to wait back there while … Oh no you don't," she added, for the Centipeetle's benefit, as it violently jerked on the line, almost pulling the whip from her grasp.

"I can't see her in there now. I was hoping one of you sent her elsewhere, and I just missed her leaving in the chaos. Maybe I'd better check."

"Do that," ordered Garnet, and while Bumblebee returned to the cave, the conversation continued behind him: "Try and get it over to those rocks, Amethyst. Striking from above looks like my best shot, but not while it's squirming all over the place. This is so much easier with three of us."

"Hey, don't gripe," said Amethyst, playfully, but with evident strain. "If Pearl wants to miss out on all the fun, that's her hard luck."

For a while after that, the conversation was limited to occasional instructions and grunts of effort, while Bumblebee frantically searched every inch of the cave, but the signs were all unpromising. With the rocks all having been melted smooth and low by the cave's alien resident, there was no cover large enough for a human to hide behind, yet Carly was nowhere in sight. _Please, Primus, don't let that thing have eaten her while I was distracted. I'd never forgive myself if- … Oh retrorats, that's not good either._ Right at the back of the cave, where the walls and ceiling tapered inwards, there was a wall which, although it had the same rocky texture as the rest, was peculiarly flat and sheer. Upon scanning it, those proved not to be the only peculiar things about it. _Metallic, and hollow._ He risked a laser shot at it, carefully angled, which proved just as well as it ricocheted back at nearly full power and blew a chunk out of the cave wall. _That settles it: a concealed blast door. Now we really are in deep slag._ He hurried back down to the beach, where things did at least seem to be going better for his allies. Amethyst had managed to thread her whip between two large rocks, and with her on one side of them and the Centipeetle on the other, she was just about managing to keep it pinned in place by pulling for all she was worth, forcing it against them.

"Guys, I think we walked into a trap," he declared.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," remarked Amethyst, dryly and not without effort. "Well, Garnet, that's as still as its ever gonna be. Feel free to make with the smashies." Garnet raised both of her gauntleted fists over her head, took an impressive standing leap, and when she was directly over the Centipeetle she commenced her descent, very quickly and swinging her fists down as she did. The creature managed to shoot off one last, hopelessly ill-aimed spurt of acid before she ploughed into it with meteoric force, and it vanished in a huge cloud of smoke, leaving only the round, green gem that had been its eye. In a quick, well-rehearsed move, Garnet snatched this up, encased it in a red, bubble-shaped force field, then dematerialised it, gem and all, with a small hand gesture.

Bumblebee would have been a lot happier about this outcome, but for the round of metallic applause and decidedly ironic whooping and cheering that immediately broke out from nearby. Looking down the beach in its direction, several metres away he saw five of the dirtiest, grimiest, ugliest looking Decepticons he had ever seen. The fact that they were all women did not make him feel unchivalrous for holding this opinion. _I'd lay a billion Shanix they couldn't give a damn._ As soon as they were confident they had an attentive audience, they ceased applauding and their looks became alert and dangerous.

"So much for Puff the Magic Dragon, then," declared the largest, foremost member of the squad. "Just as well, really. Milady runs such a tight ship that decent action's all too scarce round here, and we can't have some spoilsport creepy-crawly hogging it. Of course, maybe it's already knocked all the fight out of them. Guess it'd only be fair to give them the chance to surrender … or maybe not," she added, with pleasure, as Amethyst and Garnet both assumed battle-ready postures and Bumblebee fell in alongside them, pistol drawn, albeit with no great expectation it would achieve much. "That's the spirit. I do love suicidal enemies."

"Let's start by cleaning that dreary little piece of Autobot trash off the battlefield," suggested another, haughtily. "He's only lowering the tone." She raised her left arm, which looked less like a limb and more like a rusty electricity pylon, and Bumblebee tensed himself to dodge, _or get shot. Nice to have options._ Moments later, there was a resounding crash as a full-blown bolt of lightning jumped from her arm, but more surprising still was the fact that Garnet, with incredible speed and timing, had stepped in front of him and was absorbing the entire high voltage arc though her raised right fist. When the lightning subsided, she unclenched her hand, and the energy arced right back to its sender, reducing the Decepticon's built-in weapon to twisted, blackened scrap. While she recoiled, screaming in agony, her comrades reacted with expressions and exclamations of astonishment, and in one case of artistic indignation:

"Hey! That upgrade was hard work!" complained one of them, to the marked displeasure of her wounded colleague:

"Oh, much obliged for the sympathy, Kludge," she sneered, while clutching the warped remains of her limb. "Always nice to know who your friends-"

"Enough talk, and enough playing nice," barked the squad leader. "Let's just get this over with. Furicons, unite!" An all-too-familiar sinking feeling seized Bumblebee as he watched the Decepticons transform into new forms and fly together, as if drawn by some magnetic field to their leader, who formed the central component of this towering, grotesque, ill-proportioned gestalt. When they were all together, a new head formed on top of it, with glaring red eyes and a grilled plate in lieu of a mouth and nose. It was somewhat disabled, as its left hand consisted of the damaged Tesla coil, but it had twin mortar cannons on its back, and in its right hand it brandished a chain so long and thick it might have been used to tether an aircraft carrier. Ungainly as it looked, it twirled this crude weapon in a casual, cocky, almost playful fashion, like some huge, tarnish-coated gymnastics ribbon. _Taunting us, giving us time to think how it's going to feel when that smashes our heads in. I could shoot it while it's showing off, for all the good that's likely to do,_ he thought, while Amethyst and Garnet looked at each other with grim, unspoken assent that he could not immediately make anything of. He suspected it was for no other reason than to convey the shared sentiment 'we're dead.' _Perhaps if we retreat to the caves, break down the blast door somehow, we could flee into the tunnels. It couldn't follow us- … then again, that might work,_ he mentally added, as the two Gems, moving close to each other in a curious series of harmonised steps, collided in a flash of white light which faded to reveal a new form, not quite as tall as the Decepticon combiner but no less powerful-looking. It had four massive, muscular arms; more eyes than it could hide behind its pointed sunglasses; a mane of wild black hair; purple skin; and a wide, leering mouth full of sharp white teeth. Its clothing – a purple and black bodysuit and black arm bindings – was ragged and asymmetrical, torn at the knees and shoulders, and in the chest area to expose Amethyst's gem. As soon as its form had stabilised, this savage-looking fusion materialised Garnet's gauntlets, smashed them together to form a colossal fist-shaped hammer, then pulled Amethyst's whip from her gem, reformed it into a single rope, and attached it to the hammer to create a flail larger than a wrecking ball. Thus armed, she faced her opponent with a defiant, contemptuous look. The Decepticon combiner was understandably taken aback and ceased her taunting, but she quickly rallied her spirits.

"Hey, this battle just got interesting!" she declared, in a booming, grating voice full of malice and audio feedback. "It's not often old Boneyard gets to pick on someone her own size … almost. It's going to be a rare treat, disembowelling you."

"Less bragging, more fighting, junkface," replied the Gem fusion, so loudly and aggressively that Bumblebee felt the need to turn down his own audio receptors a few decibels and to put some more distance between himself and her. _Besides, this is likely to get messy fast._ "You want a piece of Sugilite, you just come right on and make me laugh." The introductions, such as they were, thus concluded, both combatants lashed out with their weapons at once, with the result that they became tangled in mid-swing. A brief tug-of-war ensued, in which Sugilite, having four hands to grasp her flail against Boneyard's mere one, quickly gained the upper hand, and disarmed her opponent. "Hah! That all you've got?" she asked, mockingly, while yanking the chain from around her flail and hurling it out to sea. "This is all too-" but the boast concluded in her being blown flat on her back by a barrage of mortar fire that only just missed being a direct hit. While she lay in a concussed daze, struggling to recover her bearings, Boneyard covered the distance between them with a loping gait, surprisingly swift for her size, shaking the ground at each step. As she came near, she extended a pair of spinning, saw-toothed wheels that were mounted on her right wrist, leaned down, and reached for the gem on Sugilite's chest. Although Bumblebee's knowledge of Gem physiology was nothing great, he knew enough to realise that this would be very bad news for Amethyst, _like fatal. Not on my watch._

Fortunately, Boneyard was moving quite slowly, gloating over her prey, enabling Bumblebee to sneak close enough to score a clean shot in her eyes. It caused no serious damage – he had not dared to hope it would – but it caused her to flinch back with a screech of pain. Less fortunately, it also caused her to aim a wild kick in his direction, catching him a glancing but still very forceful blow on the side of the head. Given the intensity of the shake this give to his logic circuits, he was not really sure how much time he spent just sprawling on the sand in disoriented agony, but the next thing he was clearly aware of was the two gestalts wrestling at close quarters. While Boneyard still had her sawblades out and was doing her darnedest to shatter Amethyst, she was at a disadvantage. Sugilite was using both her left arms to keep her opponent restrained, leaving her right arms free for action, which she promptly delivered by extending both arms back to their full reach, somehow corkscrewing them together into a single club-like limb, and swinging it forwards with such speed and force it caused a mini sonic boom. It also caused Boneyard to fly into her component units, which came to rest scattered across the beach and beyond the shoreline, half-transformed, stirring only very feebly, and with little blue sparks dancing over them. A couple of them expressed half-hearted groans, but no stronger inclinations to get back into the fight.

"Woah, that's some teamwork," said Bumblebee, approvingly, as he walked back over to Sugilite, still a little unsteady on his feet. "It might be for the best if you guys unfuse again, though. We'll have to find some way to lie low for awhile if we're going to rescue Carly, and that form's not exactly inconspic-"

"Don't tell me what to do, squirt," snarled Sugilite, rounding on him angrily, the light of battle still blazing in her uncovered eye. "I'll unfuse when I'm ready and not before, or maybe not at all. You don't like it, that's your problem. You _need_ me."

"I was just thinking of the mission," he replied, aiming for as reasonable a tone a possible. "We've got Pearl to think of as well, remember? Anyway, would Garnet and Amethyst want to be stuck together forever? Can you two hear me in there?" he attempted, gamely. "Are you- ?" but his career as a fusion psychologist was cruelly cut short as Sugilite snatched him up in vice-like grip and held him up to a level with her disdainful expression.

"I don't believe _this_ ," she sneered. "If it's not Pearl telling me I'm too hot to handle, it's the nagging robot Dinky Toy version. Well, screw Pearl, and screw _you_. I'm me again, and I don't need anyone else," she declared, and flung him far down the beach, to another painful impact and a skidding halt that ended with him lying, freshly dazed, against the sandbank his own body had pushed up. After a few hazy seconds, a car pulled up alongside him: a sleek, black and green customised model, bearing Decepticon sigils on the doors. Since meaningful resistance was now out of the question, he steeled himself for more punishment, but when the car spoke her tone was surprisingly cheery, with a curious accent which, if he had to try to place it, he would have guessed was faintly Scottish. _Then again, why not? Most of us just chose the local accents for our Earth speech. She's been operating here for longer, had more time to think about what she likes._

"Dear me, you just can't get the help these days, can you? Incidentally, Autobot, I'd lie there and get a good rest, if I were you. Save your strength for interrogation. _I'll_ handle this," she declared, and transformed into robot form, her upper face masked by a visor; thick, tentacle-like silver pipes hanging from the crown of her head; and two strange melee weapons in her hands: slender objects of pink metal that forked into two prongs both above and below their handgrips. "I'm so glad I kept these little antiques around, now."

"Gem destabilisers?" asked Sugilite, scornfully. "Is that supposed to be a joke? How do you think you're going to stick those babies in me before I squash your ugly head so flat they'll be able to make coke cans out of it?"

"Well, it would certainly help if you didn't move," answered the Decepticon, then raised her visor, revealing a deranged cluster of miscellaneous eyes, sensors, and beam focusers, and fired a wide blue ray at Sugilite. The fusion roared, and tried to fight back with her flail, but her movements quickly ground to a standstill as, to Bumblebee's horror, she turned grey, dull, and silent.

"You murdering monster!" he exclaimed, attempting to stand, but his gyros quickly failed him and he collapsed again, while she watched pityingly. "If I could still fight, I'd-"

"Oh, don't be so histrionic," she interrupted. "How can you calcify a silicon-based lifeform? Primus willing, I've just immobilised her physical form," she explained, while walking over to the petrified Sugilite. "Probably not that effectively, either. This ray is calibrated for organic matter, not Gem pseudo-matter. With a bit of luck it'll hold her for long enough, though the tricky bit will be getting the destabiliser to penetrate the shell before-" but that point was rendered spectacularly irrelevant as one of Sugilite's arms broke free in a tremendous explosion of stony shrapnel and dust, and seized the Decepticon so that her arms were both pinned to her side. Shaking off the rest of the shell, Sugilite raised her captive up to eye level and glared at her vengefully.

"Nice try, creep, but no dice," she growled, tensing her massive fist just enough to cause pain without any fatal crushing, making Bumblebee feel what he very rarely felt: reluctant empathy with a Decepticon. _Been there, done that, wouldn't wish it on anyone._ "What was your plan B, then? If it was pleading for mercy, just don't even bother."

"Argh! Actually … it was this," answered the Decepticon, then suddenly one of her head-tentacles came to life, snatched the Gem destabiliser out of her right hand, and jabbed it into Sugilite's wrist before she could react. From the point where it struck, yellow lines of force spread across her whole body, then with one final roar she vaporised into white smoke, while her three gems and the Decepticon fell to the ground, the latter looking thoroughly exhausted by the experience. _It's now or never,_ thought Bumblebee, and he made a desperate effort to crawl in the direction of his dropped pistol, when a red and black Decepticon Seeker touched down on the sand right in front of him, her left arm cannon aimed at his head.

"I really wouldn't," she 'advised' him, grimly. "How are you, Stryxia?"

"Oh, I'll live," replied the other Decepticon, now on her feet, but clutching her side and wincing every now and again. "I might not enjoy it so much for a bit, but I think on the whole the Furicons need the repair bay more than me." As she mused, she gathered up the fallen gems. "Best if we get these into separate containment before we end up with a rematch. Combiners, eh? Can't live with 'em … and what sort of masochist would want to, anyway? By the way, Autobot, I'd really give some serious thought to surrendering."

* * *

_And now, in this episode's special Combiner Wars edition of Gratuitous Tech Specs …_

Decepticon (Splinter Faction) – Boneyard

Function – Tactical WMD with anger management issues

"He loves me [pulls off arm], he loves me not [pulls off leg], he loves me [pulls off arm #2], he loves me not [pulls off leg #2, then pauses on head]. Hey, it's my lucky day! Maybe not yours …"

The usually tight group dynamic among the Furicons makes their combined form among the more lucid of Decepticon gestalts, capable of holding a conversation (if she cares to), understanding most orders, and formulating her own strategies. In practice, however, Boneyard's intelligence is often compromised by her questionable sanity. The combined aggression, cruelty, and twisted playfulness of her component parts makes for a less than ideal soldier, although it does make her an exceptional terrorist. Armed with the combined abilities of her unit members, amplified by their shared power grids, and with enhanced armour and force field defences. Her main weakness is her lack of manual dexterity, but she compensates by extending her reach where possible, either with her formidable ranged weapons or the durabyllium chain that is her melee weapon of choice.

Strength – 10

Intelligence – 6

Speed – 5

Endurance – 10

Rank – 6

Courage – 10

Firepower – 10

Skill – 6

* * *

Crystal Gem (technically) – Sugilite

Function – Uncontrolled, often unasked-for demolitions

"Maybe _you're_ just too little!"

Gem fusion is sometimes a beautiful, harmonious thing … then on other occasions it can create borderline eldritch abominations that only seem to embody and exaggerate the worst qualities of their component Gems. All aggression and ego, Sugilite is (or should be) a weapon of last resort, liable to create worse problems than she solves without sufficient backup to check her excesses. Worse still, in spite of her great physical courage she actually amplifies the insecurities of her Gems, making her invariably – and dangerously – reluctant to unfuse, and give up the intoxicating sense of power that comes with being her. Notwithstanding her drawbacks, for feats of pure destruction she is unequalled, extremely difficult to poof, and surprisingly agile given her size.

But when all's said and done, is she strong in the real way?

Strength – 10

Intelligence – 7

Speed – 7

Endurance – 10

Rank – 5

Courage – 9

Firepower – 1

Skill – 8


	6. The New Recruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carly's interrogation takes an unexpected and not entirely welcome turn. Her cellmate is no help whatsoever.

**"Just look at this one! You've stripped her of everything! Her limb enhancers, her status, her dignity."**

**"** **I still have** _**one** _ **of those things."**

"Let's try asking that again, shall we?" suggested Firetalon, ominously, as she paced around the very uncomfortable, manacle-equipped metal chair that Carly had been placed in. The other Decepticon – the elusive and infamous Lady Moonshadow herself, it seemed – was leaning against the bare wall of the interrogation cell, watching proceedings with an inscrutable expression, but otherwise had not involved herself. "Before we do, fleshling, I strongly recommend you divest yourself of the illusion that your life means anything at all to me."

"I believe you," answered Carly, coldly if despondently, as she recalled a similar scenario from some fifteen years ago, only the captors on that occasion had been Megatron and his officers, and it had ended with them cheerfully watching her asphyxiate through a porthole, like some morbid peep show. _Better me than Daniel, though._

"Good. Then you will tell me the full details of your mission without further delay, along with whatever intel Prime has on us, the strength of his forces, and the likelihood of when we may expect a full-scale attack. I'll accept your best estimate on that. Oh, and among other personal facts, DNA matching revealed that you've a background in computer science … or whatever passes for that at your species' primitive level of technology. If your Autobot masters took you into their confidence enough to share details of their cybersecurity measures with you, then you'll divulge them. It's in your interests to give us as much information as you can. If it helps to foil their attack plans, we'll consider sparing your life. Proceed … in whatever order you please," she added, more insistently, after a few seconds of silence. The prompting achieved nothing except more silence, though, so she leaned closer over Carly's chair, her scowl intensifying. "Then perhaps you will answer me this, girl: do you have a death wish?"

"No," she answered, raising her head to meet the cruel, red-eyed stare head-on, "but supposing I trusted you – which I _don't_ – you'd spare my life for what? For making me into some poor, brainwashed puppet like her?" she asked, making a slight gesture with her manacled right hand towards the cell door, where Trueshot was standing guard. "Some consolation prize for selling out everyone I love, maybe even my whole planet. I've no death wish, but life for its own sake isn't worth _any_ price." She then averted her gaze, having no wish to see Firetalon's reaction, be it of malice, anger, or glee, nor indeed the half-expected barrel of a plasma rifle pointed at her face. It was the other Decepticon who first responded, however, in a measured, stately tone:

"For all his failings, one must concede that Optimus Prime chooses his allies well," she declared, approvingly. "It must be counted somewhat to his credit that he despises cowards as much as I myself do. Careless of him to then lose such brave allies, mind you, but his loss is our gain. Stryxia ought to be thrilled. She's always lamenting on how difficult it is to train her cybergrafts for laboratory work … or do you disagree, Firetalon?" she asked her subordinate, curiously. "You would have her terminated?" Carly dared to turn her face once more to the Seeker security officer and saw that the look of anger had gone from her expression, which was now merely a sceptical frown.

"Of course not, ma'am," answered Firetalon, "but with all respect to Stryxia, she's far too trusting, to say nothing of absent-minded. This woman is a security risk, even by her own admission. Giving her laboratory or computer access at this stage would be _begging_ for trouble. She'd be a guaranteed Glitcher, if not worse. I must insist that her limiter be set to the maximum level at least until we can all agree she's making a serious effort to adjust. Stryxia will just have to be patient and count her blessings that she has Pearl to help her."

"Considering tonight's … ahem, 'unpleasantness' I think we'll be very lucky to keep Pearl on side for much longer, alas, but you counsel me wisely. Maximum limiter it is, then. She may find the work a little beneath her, but that will be an incentive for her to adjust more quickly."

"Hey! Not wanting to be rude, but maybe you could stop talking about like I'm not here," protested Carly. "Don't think I'm not grateful for the reprieve, but what's all this about a 'limiter?'"

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about," said Firetalon, in the warmest tone Carly had yet heard from her: the slightly irritable voice of a weary teacher explaining something they thought painfully obvious to a child. "Certainly not 'brainwashing,' in your melodramatic parlance. It's just a simple program that limits which areas of the island you can be in and which work details you can perform. If you try to deviate from it, it causes your servomotors to lock up until it can be reset by the security commander … i.e. me. At your level, you'll be restricted to menial outdoors work: biomass cultivation, deep-water algae harvesting, and suchlike. I'll assume from your attire that you can swim."

"I get by, and I do it just fine without 'servomotors,'" she replied, angrily. "In case you missed it the first time, I'm not interested in being one of your cybernetic slaves. Thanks, but no thanks."

"Your new liege has just shown you great mercy and favour, spy," said Trueshot, very severely. "How dare you throw it back in her face. I should have just-"

"Patience, Trueshot," interrupted Moonshadow. "I daresay she had no ill intentions, but the Autobots can be persuasive, and perhaps even believe themselves to be in the right. Her reluctance is not unexpected. Still, try to be of better cheer, girl," she advised, turning to Carly. "When your interrogation began, you thought you had no better option than to die with honour. Now you get to keep both your life and your honour. I'm sure even Prime would not begrudge you a small sense of relief, at least."

"Look … for what it's worth, I guess you probably think _you're_ in the right," said Carly, diplomatically. "More than Megatron, anyway. He just couldn't give a damn. Even so, limiter or no limiter, I won't work for conquerors."

"Well, that _is_ somewhat disappointing," said Firetalon, in a scolding, patronising tone. "Your own government routinely imposes its will on other nations, directly or by proxy, yet I imagine you still pay your taxes."

"Yes, but … Okay, I've no answer to that," she admitted, miserably. "That's just a cross we all bear unless we want to live in jail … but they do some good too," she added, though she instantly felt it sounded terribly lame. Moonshadow, however, seized on it eagerly:

"So would we," she declared, while deploying a scope-like apparatus from beneath a sliding panel in her wrist. Aiming it at the blank metal wall, she projected an image of the Earth. "Before I show you our plans, let me just say I admire your species, truly. War led to the most tragic, aeons-long stagnation for my race, but in a few meagre centuries and in spite of being rarely at peace, humanity has shown a spirit of creativity equalled by few other sentient races in this galaxy. Alas, in social terms we believe you reached your peak during the first two thousand or so years since we settled here, with the great empires that once dominated these shores. Since their decline you've taken mostly false steps, until finally we get to the ludicrous arrangements of the present time, where commerce and usury sit in higher esteem than honour, reason, or even science. Beware that path. It served the Quintessons ill in the long run and is already pushing your world to an accelerated demise. Observe," she commanded, and the projected image changed, vast sections of both land and sea now flashing in red. "Inefficient, ill-planned urban sprawl. Intensive agriculture of land leading to desertification. Primitive carbon-based and nuclear forms of energy generation that even your own science long superseded, poisoning land and sea. You take the point, and I know many of you humans are well aware of this, but who will change it for you? Not, I think, the squabbling, corrupt rabble of sycophantic hirelings and puppets that purport to be your leaders. Now, see this world under _my_ rule."

The image changed again, some of the red sections turning back to their natural blues and greens, but most of them changing silver, and rising slowly out of the sphere in irregular patterns until they formed clusters of shining spires, domes, and highways: huge, shining cities of steel and crystal, so tall that they penetrated beyond the atmosphere itself. Carly knew of such a landscape from only one other place in the universe. _Cybertron. Well, this sure is a big bag of mixed feelings._ During her one visit to the Transformer homeworld, she had marvelled at its strange, epic, techo-Gothic beauty and sophistication, even in its post-war decayed state. Seeing it thus melded with her own homeworld gave her the most curious, mixed sense of both awe and revulsion, much like the thought of becoming a cybergraft herself. _Still, what's a good dystopia without a dose of doublethink?_ Oblivious to this, Moonshadow continued to declaim, impressively:

"Spoiled and depleted lands reclaimed, either to regenerate naturally or for cyberforming into impeccably planned and efficient colonies. All unspoiled lands and unique ecosystems and resources preserved. Air and water purified, all but possibly a few thousand of the human population – which we will need solely to generate new sparks, when required – cyberformed into our subject caste, thus stabilising the population. Renewable and abundant sources of energon to facilitate further imperial expansion. In short, a perfect harmony of cybernetic and organic, and a shining jewel in what will soon, Primus willing, be a whole empire of such wonders. All that stands in its way are your Autobot friends and Megatron's gang of petty-minded ne'er-do-wells, but that will soon be rectified." Carly thought she detected a flicker of doubt in Firetalon's expression, as if the Seeker did not quite share her leader's supreme confidence in this outcome, but she rallied her spirits as she took up the thread:

"You should reconsider your opposition, Earthwoman. Earn our trust, and you could be permitted to work in your own field and play an important role in the reconstruction of your world. Who knows but in a few centuries you might be a Decepticon yourself, supervising such initiatives on other undeveloped worlds, far from here?"

"And even if you are not, would _this_ honestly be such a terrible fate?" asked Moonshadow, and projected a new image: that of Carly herself, with a few alterations. Her shoulder-length blonde hair had been reimagined as a symmetrical, bob-shaped helmet, and its hue extended over her entire, very visible body, giving the bizarre if not unattractive impression of a mercilessly skin-tight suit of golden plate armour. Less attractively, her eyes were red, and there was a Decepticon sigil at the base of her neck. _Still, I guess I don't make a bad looking robot._ "No more sickness, no more decay. Since you _are_ a scientist, apparently, I shan't insult you with such trivial perks as undying youth and beauty, but consider all you might learn and experience. If you think death preferable, you either have no imagination or a sense of honour even I would have to call morbid."

"Lady Moonshadow," began Carly, with careful respect, "I'll admit, under less coercive circumstances I might have been a _bit_ tempted, and you're sure as hell not wrong when you talk about humanity being on a destructive course. Something ought to be done … though I'm not convinced it needs to be conquest. Seriously, though, you should think about talking with Optimus Prime, exchanging a few ideas, maybe even working together on a solution. I appreciate you've had your differences, but I doubt you'll ever find a guy who cares more about the Earth than-" but her diplomacy failed spectacularly on this occasion, as Moonshadow switched off the projection and rounded on her with a look of fury.

"Work with Prime?" she asked, scathingly. "Last of an ignoble line of traitors and heretics who brought my people close to nought … so low, indeed, that they saw the likes of Megatron as the last hope for restoring their pride? I should seek a friendly audience with the robot who murdered my own brother, should I? You understand _nothing_ , girl. Just be grateful I do not punish ignorance. As for Prime, the only working relationship I envision having with him is one that will commence with him unconditionally bending the knee to me and pleading forgiveness, then it _might_ please me to be magnanimous. Deal with her, Firetalon," she ordered, turning to her officer. "I'll be in stellar cartography. I suddenly feel the need to meditate. Leave me undisturbed for at least an hour."

"Understood, ma'am," replied Firetalon, formally but with an undertone of concern, as her leader swept from the room. When the bulkhead closed behind her, Firetalon closed her eyes and let her head droop forwards. Carly got the impression she would have sighed, had she the lungs for it.

"I, err, didn't mean to upset her," she said, apologetically. "I'm sorry if-"

"You couldn't have known, but never mention that subject to her again," commanded Firetalon, her voice stern and grave. "Moonshadow is many things, but forgiving is not one of them."

"Did Optimus really kill her brother?" asked Carly, not sure that she really wished to know the answer, and Firetalon looked all kinds of uncomfortable as she answered:

"Yes … though I suspect his own people would say he did no more than his duty. It _was_ during the Four-hundred-and-twenty-first Siege of Iacon, admittedly, and Lord Plaguestar was not his sister's equal for honour. There were … unpleasant rumours about how he treated his civilian prisoners, and even Prime's pacifism has its limits. Still, that's in the nature of war. Sometimes it makes common cause between bitter enemies, more often it programs hatred and division between good people who might otherwise have been friends. Tragic, but it is what it is, and whatever her resentments, Moonshadow will nonetheless make a fine and wise ruler. You'll see in time. For now, I'm afraid, you're looking at a good few hours in the brig. Our priority right now is upgrading the hardware of our existing cybergrafts, so new conversions will have to wait. I suppose you won't object to one more day as an organic being," she remarked, all too accurately. "Take her to detention, Trueshot. Make sure she has some energon. Is that a problem?" she asked, confused, as both human and cybergraft had reacted to her attempted kindness with awkward expressions.

"That's thoughtful of you … but I'm pretty sure it would just poison me horribly, if not melt through me like acid," explained Carly, sheepishly.

"Oh. Then what _would_ be an acceptable fuel source?" Firetalon asked, her tone suggesting slight irritation at human physiology for having such selfish compatibility issues. "Any ideas, Trueshot?"

"I can gather her fruit, Commander, or hunt her something," offered Trueshot. "It's been awhile since I last had need to, but I think I still remember what's edible."

"Very good, but report to Stryxia yourself before you do. Tell her I said that you should have your new laser core installed immediately, and not before time. Proceed," she ordered, and pointed a finger at Carly's chair, causing her manacles to snap open. Trueshot had already got her energon bow ready, just in case, so Carly resigned herself to the situation and followed her escort out of the cell and through the corridors of the ancient starship.

"Congratulations," said Trueshot, civilly if still a little coldly, as they walked along. "You did well to show them courage. You must agree that says a lot for their principles, so think very carefully before you squander their favour. Turn left here."

"I'll admit, they are the nicest Decepticons I've met," replied Carly, then mentally added, _which is saying, very, very little. Still power-mad and full of entitlement, but at least they seem to care that we're happy about being subjugated. Megatron's more the 'boot stamping on a human face forever' type. If you're going to have a dystopia, I guess a Brave New World's better than an Airstrip One … just._ Although she kept most of her thoughts guarded, Trueshot did not miss the implications of her faint praise, and she responded very gravely:

"I know of Megatron by repute, of course. None here would argue that the Decepticons of old did well when they made him their sovereign and drove our liege into exile. However … when I was a mortal, it was not unknown for ordinary people in hard times to turn to tyrants. From what I gather, very little has changed in the world. You should not judge the Three by a harsher measure than you would use for your own people. Turn right here."

"That's a fair point, I suppose," Carly conceded, _not that that excuses them for kidnapping Obsidian and Pearl, but let's not even bother going there. I'm not even curious how Miss Loyal Fanatic here would justify that, as she definitely would._

"Good. Then I hope you'll make a sincere effort to adjust. If you still have doubts, remember that at your level, the work you'll be doing won't even have any real strategic significance. The cybergrafts need energon too. You'll just be working to feed the community. Left again here, then stop at the first door. I hope you're not too proud to pitch in and contribute to all our survival."

"I hadn't planned on sulking just for the sake of it," answered Carly, as she came to a halt outside another huge, sealed metal bulkhead. "I just hope no-one expects me to be elated at being imprisoned and separated from my son and my husband."

"There's no help for that, and you _are_ a spy," Trueshot reminded her, as she nocked an arrow onto her shimmering, ethereal bowstring. "Many rulers would have executed you. Still, you may well see your loved ones again, when the Three reign supreme. In those times, all but those who have seriously displeased them will join the legions of the saved." _Oh great. One happy, Decepticon-branded robot family for all eternity._ "Now, operate the door control," she ordered, throwing a meaningful glance towards a large numeric keypad, only accessible to one of human height by virtue of the metal stepladder that had been placed beneath it. "Can you read Cybertronian numbers?"

"Sure, but you're being excessively cautious," she remarked, as she ascended the ladder. "I'm not likely to make a grab for your bow if you open the door yourself."

"This isn't for you," explained Trueshot, taking a step back from the brig door and drawing back her arrow. "The combination for today is five-seven-twelve-three-fifteen, and in case you're wondering, it doesn't open from the inside." _Well, duh._ "Open it and come back down here." Carly inputted the code then climbed back down as the bulkhead slid open. Looking inside, she saw the cell's other occupant, but they did not strike her as being at all fearsome enough to require special caution and weapons. It was another female cybergraft, slumped against the far wall with a look of despondence. She met their gaze as the door opened, but quickly averted it again, giving them just a brief flash of deepest loathing and resentment. While Carly would have welcomed an ally, the woman's demeanour did not exactly lend itself to sympathy, though other than her off-putting expression she was, in fairness to her re-creators, a strikingly beautiful construct. Her metal skin was finished in a deep, shiny, roseate pink, and her hair-helmet was styled like a high bouffant, with sculpted curls and discreetly placed cooling vents. She showed no inclination to attack nor even to escape, but that did not persuade Trueshot to lower her guard.

"Stay at the back of the cell until the door closes again," she ordered the occupant, sternly. "Don't make any sudden moves. Enter the cell now, Carly, and go right to the back. Don't worry about _her_. Her limiter is set to prevent any hostile action, but for now she is too uncooperative to even be allowed to mix with the community."

"Another happy recruit?" asked Carly, cynically, as she entered the cell and marched to the back. "You'll pardon me if I'm not exactly filled with confidence." As she turned her face back to the door, though, she was surprised at Trueshot's expression: a knowing, sardonic half-smile.

"Get to know her. You'll understand," she suggested, side-stepping in the direction of the ladder while keeping her arrow aimed through the door, "then perhaps you'll think, like me, that sometimes the Three are if anything far _too_ merciful. Now, sit down." As soon as Carly had sat down on the metal floor of the unfurnished grey room, next to her dejected cellmate, Trueshot relaxed her bow and returned the head of the arrow – its only solid part – to the canister on her waist. She then used the arc of the bow to reach up and tap the main door control, both closing and locking it. Her clanking steps then receded down the corridor, soon leaving them in silence. Carly turned her attention to the other prisoner, at first thinking she was going to struggle to rouse the cybergraft from her depression, but unexpectedly the woman was already staring at her intently with a look that mixed curiosity and hatred in equal measure. It gave Carly the curious feeling of being some disgusting but in its way fascinating parasite in a specimen jar, with a biologist squinting at her.

"I remember you, now," said the cybergraft, confusing her even more. "You're that wretched fleshling who once planted a grenade on the hull of my undersea base. I remember thinking for a few blissful minutes that you'd drowned as a result of your own incompetent sabotage, before it transpired those insufferable Autobots had saved you. Do I take it from this that you've botched yet another mission on their behalf, yet your luck has _still_ not run out? There's no justice."

"Megatron?" asked Carly, in astonishment, while instinctively flinching away from the cybernetic woman who suddenly seemed more formidable, but that impression was fleeting as she remembered Trueshot's words. _She's … he's completely powerless. A fittingly ironic fate, maybe, but I can't help asking myself what's wrong with a decent firing squad?_ Her emotions switching to anger, she stood up again as she continued to address him. "You're damn right there's no justice! Hell, you deserve a second chance about as much as you deserve a Nobel Prize. If I'd been doing the sentencing you'd have been lucky not to get the car crusher. That said, you do look pretty in pink."

"That didn't take long," remarked Megatron, with a joyless sneer. "How weaklings like to give themselves airs of moral superiority – being able to claim no other kind – yet as soon as you get the tiniest sliver of power, you can't wait to put the boot in. My compliments."

"Hey, screw your self-pity. As far as I understand it, you've spent the best part of nine million years being a genocidal, backstabbing war criminal. Saint Francis of Assisi would find it a challenge forgiving you. Maybe I _have_ underestimated Lady Moonshadow after all."

"Hardly. This was not done out of altruism. Merely because they needed to test a prototype laser core for their slaves. It seems that Stryxia bungled her attempt to design a stable biomechanical neural net, and her shiny little laboratory rats were all at risk of becoming sparkless zombies, so our illustrious friends have resorted to stealing experiments from the Autobots. That Gem ally of yours set them up with a remote link to Teletraan I so they could help themselves to the data on Wheeljack's Cortexitron transferral process."

"That was thoughtful of her," said Carly, dispiritedly. "If they've got that link though, then what's to prevent them from taking- ?"

"Any codes or data they desire? Nothing whatsoever. In trying to save some worthless Earthling lives, your idiot alien friend has completely broken Autobot security and thus doomed them and probably this entire planet with them. I expect Moonshadow will keep me around just for long enough to force me to watch her achieve what I never could, and perhaps see the remnants of my Decepticons bow to her will, before she decides I've outlived my amusement value. If _you've_ any plans based on surviving long after that date, I recommend cancelling them."

"I'll be around for quite a while, apparently," she replied, without enthusiasm, while looking over the cell walls for moveable panels, ventilation grilles, or anything else that might offer the vaguest hope of escape. _Fat chance though there is, it just became imperative that someone get a message through to Autobot HQ, get them to deactivate Teletraan I if it's not already too late._ Other than the security camera mounted in a high corner, though, well out of reach, the cell was featureless. "I'll be joining their cybergraft workforce myself just as soon as they can schedule in a slot for sucking my soul out."

"Use whatever passes for your brain, human. When their only real enemies are all defeated or subjugated, what use will they have for a workforce? They'll be able to take all the energy they need with impunity then, gut this stinking planet dry and leave it for dead. Why waste any of that energy sustaining a swarm of useless, inferior creatures? They'll dispose of us all before long, mark my words."

"Well, maybe, then again, probably not," she countered, with deadpan incredulity. "For crying out loud … This may seem a perverse concept to you, but most people don't actually consider it normal to do the very shittiest thing they can think of just because."

"You believe all that inane gibberish about peaceful coexistence and wanting to rule the planet for its own good, then?" he asked, derisively.

"Actually, yes. It's not unknown for a dictator to have a plan that goes a bit beyond just being a massive sadistic ego trip."

"My mistake, I was forgetting I'm everyone's moral inferior," he 'apologised,' listlessly. "Let's wait till our rations arrive, then, and we can drink a toast to our eternal slavery."

"Obviously, that's a destiny I'd like to improve on, if we can. If you've any ideas or insights, feel free to share them. This _is_ a Decepticon ship, after all."

"I'll assume, then, you weren't holding out many hopes of Optimus Prime launching a magnificent swashbuckling rescue."

"I didn't know you were all that keen on being a damsel in distress … and no, we don't have time to wait for the Autobots to act. We'll have to rely on ourselves for this, and I don't like that any more than you do, but needs m- … Hey, is it just me, or has that camera not moved or blinked or done anything at all since I've come in here?" she asked, indicating the security eye. Megatron treated it to a brief scrutiny, then shrugged indifferently.

"It does seem to be inert, for whatever good that does us," he said, indifferently. "Poorly maintained, I imagine. Hardly surprising, in this ancient wreck."

"Perhaps, or maybe it's been sabotaged," she suggested. It sounded desperate even to her, but if anything Megatron's apathy spurred her to remain hopeful. "Bumblebee or the Gems might have gotten off the beach okay after all, might be trying to help us. Maid Megatron might have her melodramatic rescue after all, or maybe there's been a more general power failure and we could pry the door open ourselves. Well it won't cost us anything to _try_ ," she pointed out, with exasperation, as Megatron just pulled another contemptuous face. "Geez, are you always such a wet blanket when you don't have a nuclear-powered death ray bolted to your arm?" No help was forthcoming from the humiliated warlord, though, so Carly went back to the bulkhead by herself and tried to slide it open, without success. The smooth metal offered very little purchase, and she scrabbled around the edges in the hope of finding a better hold, when a whispered voice, with a metallic Cybertronian echo but an Eastern European accent, hissed at her irritably from the other side:

"Bozhe moi, keep it down in there! I can trip the lock mechanism, but I need time, so if you'd like to consider not giving the guards a reason to come running-"

"Never mind the mechanism," interrupted Carly, in an excited whisper. Confused as she was, she was quite happy to accept a jailbreak even from a mystery source. "I know the door code. It's five-seven-twelve-"

"That's real nice, devushka, if I could actually read the alien gibberish on the panel."

"You don't need to. It's a hexadecimal radix: zero to fifteen, from the top-left button to the bottom-right. Just count them off. Five, then seven."

"Check."

"Twelve, then three."

"Check … I think."

"Last number, fifteen." A second passed, then the bulkhead slid open, and their saviour scuttled down from the stepladder to face them. She was, as Carly had expected, another cybergraft, with silver bodywork and a short, straight-edged helmet piece that vaguely resembled a flapper cut. The most curious aspect of her appearance was, oddly, also the most mundane. For unlike Trueshot, Megatron, and the few others she had seen on her way to interrogation, this cybergraft actually had clothing, albeit only an old, drab khaki jacket with some badly worn military insignia that Carly could make nothing of. She was also carrying some kind of slender, silver precision tool – presumably what she had been intending to force the lock with – and she slipped this into her pocket as she addressed the prisoners, quietly but very urgently:

"What are you waiting for? Follow me, you two, and quickly. Our luck could give out at any time." This convincing argument finally stirred Megatron's spirit, and he wasted no time in demonstrating his usual flair for solidarity by barging past Carly in the doorway and following hot on the heels of their rescuer, as she darted off down the corridor. Annoyed, but appreciating his point, Carly followed their example. They had only run a short distance and turned a couple of corners before the silver woman stopped by a grilled panel on the wall, which she slid open for them. While it was certainly large enough to make a human-sized door, it was far too small for most Cybertronians, and the passage beyond was a sharp descent into uninviting pitch darkness.

"Disposal chute?" asked Megatron, dubiously. "Where does it emerge?"

"At the edge of the runway, into some bushes," replied the stranger. "Plenty of cover and enough to break our fall … but maybe _you_ should go first, and make sure to move aside quickly when you hit the ground," she advised Carly. "Having a metal lady slam into your back probably won't do you much good. Make with it, quickly."

As Carly lowered herself feet-first into the chute and slid into the shadows, she was tempted to say 'what an incredible smell you've discovered,' but refrained, partly because she was at least certain that the allusion would be wasted on one of her companions, and partly because it was a downright lie: the chute smelt of nothing but stale air and metal. _I guess that's one thing to say for Decepticons. At least their garbage is less stinky than- … Ouch,_ she thought, as the darkness suddenly gave way to the faint light of dawn, and she piled into some decently thick but rather prickly bushes. In spite of her pain, she quickly gathered her wits and scrambled into the deeper cover of the surrounding woodlands, while the other two popped out of the chute behind her in quick succession and made in the same direction. When they were together again, their rescuer wasted no time in taking point, and continued to speak in a lowered tone:

"Follow my steps exactly. I know which of the cameras and sensors are out of commission. Deviate even slightly, and the alarm will be raised before we know it. It'll be raised soon anyway, but if we're very quick and careful I can take you somewhere safe … ish. Come on."

_I suppose I could just say 'I've a bad feeling about this,'_ thought Carly, as they stalked off into the forest in single file, _but that wouldn't be very grateful, would it?_

* * *

In the ancient ship's stellar cartography chamber, beneath a magnificent black dome flecked with holographic stars, Moonshadow knelt surrounded by the reliquaries of her loved ones: ornate, spherical containers of steel and transparent ceramic, containing burned-out circuits; shattered laser cores; damaged, fragmentary faceplates like macabre metal theatre masks; and other such relics as she had managed to preserve of the many sisters, brothers, sparklings, and lovers she had lost to the wars. There were one-hundred-and-seventy-two of them in total, arranged in a spiral that went outwards chronologically, from those who had fallen to the Quintessons, to those the High Council had turned into lobotomised empties during the decline of the Golden Age, to those who had died in action against the Autobots, and finally those who had been victims of Megatron's coup. From high above, concealed speakers piped a soft, sombre ambience into the chamber, half funeral dirge and half mediational chant. The atmosphere was melancholy and serene, up until the point a strident bleeping shattered it completely. With a scowl of frustration, Moonshadow raised her wrist to her mouth and deployed her built-in communicator, which was the source of said profane bleeping.

"Report, Firetalon," she answered, with only muted displeasure. Ill-timed as it was, she knew well that her XO and lover would not have disturbed her for anything trivial.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you … Megatron and that scientist woman have escaped," declared Firetalon, miserably. "Almost certainly a Glitcher action, but I take full responsibility. I should have told Trueshot to remain on guard, but I sent her for her laser core conversion instead. I forgot, with the Furicons all out of commission at once our base security has never been more meagre. It was a shameful oversight, and I alone am to-"

"Don't berate yourself, but they must be recaptured or eliminated as soon as possible. I leave it to your discretion which."

"I'd sooner recapture the woman. Her motivations would have been honourable, at least. I think you know what I'd sooner do to Megatron. If I may suggest, ma'am, it might be for the best to imprison Obsidian and Pearl as well. If the escapees or the rebels manage to get in contact with them-"

"I'm confident Stryxia can handle Pearl as long as there is still work to occupy them, but I agree on the matter of Obsidian. Locate her and bring her in. Arm as many of the cybergrafts as you deem wise if you need help. I will join you presently."

"Copy that, ma'am … but with no disrespect to Trueshot and her kind, if they're our main defence now we'd better pray that the Autobots don't launch their main attack any time soon. Over."

_Pray,_ thought Moonshadow, as she retracted her communicator antenna and bowed her head before the ethereal, holographic image of her god again. _How ironically appropriate._

"You heard that, Lord?" she asked. As always, the god responded, but in clearly articulated ideas rather than words:

_Of course, my daughter, but it matters not. Any action your enemies take now will be a meaningless gesture. Indeed, you should welcome their pathetic attack._

"Then you have succeeded?" she asked, with profound relief and gratitude.

_Did you ever doubt it? Your victory was a foregone conclusion from the moment I first chose you. Your patience will be well rewarded, and soon._

"Forgive me. I know there was never any doubt, but tonight my enemies have sorely vexed me. When they are dealt with, and the shard has been reclaimed, will- ?"

_You will see the ones you have lost again, that I swear. Now go, make preparations for the final reckoning. We will speak once more before the time of judgement._

The ghostly red outline of the great, horned figure faded, along with the stars and music, leaving just Moonshadow and the mortal remains of her kin, surrounded by blackness and silence, but a satisfied smile now played around her lips. _Soon, Syrena, Blacklight,_ she thought, her eyes drifting across the multitude of reliquaries. _Soon, Plaguestar. All of you: you will soon be avenged, and not only that. You will live to see the Cybertron … indeed, the universe we once dreamed of, with those who were once slaves revered as gods, remaking the faithful in our image. All that remains is for the curse to descend on the heretics and for the Matrix to be restored to the Almighty One, and we will be together again, in eternal glory. It has been a surprisingly long three thousand years, but well spent._

* * *

_And now, in this episode's edition of Not-really-an-OC, but … Tech Spec …_

Decepticon Cybergraft – Megatron

Function – Slave

"Peace through tyranny … I meant _my_ tyranny, not yours. Oh bugger."

As a lowly cybergraft, Megatron lacks brute strength and terror, forcing him to rely entirely on his ruthlessness and the military cunning he once excelled in, but has rather neglected over the aeons in favour of upgraded tech and bullying. He possesses no fusion cannon, no interdimensional black hole linking, no antimatter-powered death rays, and a whole host of physical weaknesses. His new body is a spare cybergraft platform made in the image of Pink Diamond: a pet project that Stryxia undertook for mere amusement a few centuries ago, then never found a use for (as cybergrafts are nearly always modelled after the human they originally were, appropriately adjusted for age and gender) so it just sat at the back of her laboratory storeroom gathering dust. Needless to say, Megatron did not appreciate the honour.

Strength – 1

Intelligence – 10

Speed – 1

Endurance – 1

Rank – 1

Courage – 9

Firepower – 1

Skill – 9


	7. Glitcher HQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carly and Megatron make contact with the local resistance movement. In spite of his own reduced circumstances, Megatron manages to be decidedly unimpressed.

**"Somewhere … long forgotten. Where only those who don't belong … belong."**

_Well, my hopes hadn't been high,_ thought Megatron, as he looked around the derelict crypt at the sorry rabble of nervous-looking cybergrafts who constituted the local resistance, _but one can always trust humans – even robotised ones – to make an artform of being pathetic … not that I'm in the best position to point the finger right now._ Their rescuer had led them here through the extensive network of part-natural caves that the Gem invaders had, in their time on this island, extended into a complex warren. What purpose this particular chamber had originally served was impossible for him to guess at from the runes and pictograms inscribed on its marble-panelled walls and pillars, although the angular, stylised feminine figures and elaborate geometric motifs hinted at ceremonial purposes. _Meeting hall, chapel? A morgue, I fear, if Moonshadow ever discovers it. She is awfully tetchy on the subject of treachery._ Multifaceted green crystals set into the high ceiling emitted a cold luminescence, not strong but enough for them to see by, and thus appreciate the meagre size and deplorable morale of this would-be guerrilla unit. Megatron could count no more than eight of them, including their escort, and other than her none of them looked particularly thrilled at having guests. _For that, I can't blame them. We cut a thoroughly pitiful pair, and it's plain to see these 'rebels' have problems enough._

"If no-one else wants to introduce themselves, then I'll break the ice," said their escort, jovially. "I'm Lieutenant Raskova, VVS Military Transport Aviation Command. I'd better tell you my 'pet name' as well, just in case it becomes expedient for you to know it. If the giant metal maiden, mother, or their tin-can crone of a boss refer to me, they'll call me 'Nightwitch.'"

"I see, like the women fighter pilots who flew for the USSR during World War Two," observed Carly. "I guess the Three have taken some interest in human history, at least."

"That's as may be, devushka, but since I only ever flew freight carriers, it doesn't speak much to me. Just call me Sasha, anyway. I'm the youngest of the Glitchers, by some distance. Sarpedon here's our chief elder, so to speak," she announced, while gesturing towards a male cybergraft with a muscular build; bronze skin; and a pissed-off expression. "He washed up here in 415 BCE, during the Peloponnesian War. Genuine Spartan warrior, would you believe? Still, everyone here's got at least a century or two on me, and that's mostly the same for the rest of the nymphs. I'm afraid there's not many of us who try to resist. With some of them it's understandable. Many were slaves already, and the few that were recently converted were mainly refugees who were trying to reach mainland Europe. I guess they just counted their blessings to find a place where they wouldn't be deported back to the hellholes they came from, at least. Other than that, the Three don't convert many these days. I guess missing people are getting too conspicuous and traceable. They were just lucky with me: I got caught in a storm while flying back from Ethiopia, lost my radio and my ADF, and had to make an emergency landing here. The weird sisters helped themselves to my plane and robotised me by way of 'payment,'" she explained, resentfully. "No doubt I was listed as missing presumed dead. No, two new 'conscripts' at once is pretty big news round here of late, especially since the gossip is you're part of some invasion force. They don't keep us well informed of the world away from the island, so I've no idea who could have sent you, but as long as you're _they're_ enemies and here to stick it to them, I couldn't give a shit whether you're KGB, CIA, MI6, or the freaking Devil Girls from Mars. We've got your backs." It was clear from her comrades' faces that this was wishful thinking on her part, which was rather a shame, thought Megatron, as but for her naivete he could almost have tolerated this Earthling. She had guts, vengefulness, and she clearly wasn't too proud or fussy when it came to picking allies, as long as they served her objective. _I'd definitely rate her as the only one here who doesn't look totally ridiculous wearing that Decepticon sigil, myself not excluded, alas._

"It's appreciated, though actually we're with the Autobots … Or _I_ am, anyway," Carly corrected herself, with a glance of not-very-well-suppressed distaste at Megatron. "The two of us kind of met in the cells. Actually, I didn't even catch this lady's name. I'll let her speak for-"

"Professor Rose Arkeville, of Central City University," Megatron hastily improvised. "I'm a specialist in cybernetics," _and probably in everything else, by human standards of science._

"Oh. Small world, isn't it?" said Carly, stonily and with a hint of sarcasm. "I'm Carly, and I lecture in cybernetics at MIT." She cast a reproachful glance at Megatron as she spoke, evidently under the bizarre misapprehension that he had deliberately plagiarised her CV for his cover story. _As if I should know the resumé of some insignificant organic._ Sasha looked rather dubious at their stories, or possibly their obvious dislike for each other, but she quickly resigned herself to the situation.

"Lucky us, then," she replied, optimistically, "to have two such experts on the team. My only regret is we were too late to stop them from giving you your makeover, Professor … May I call you Rose?" Megatron shrugged indifferently. _At least it wasn't a mere human I took that name from, little does she know._ "I'd only heard about the one human prisoner being taken, along with a couple of other giant robots and four pieces of sentient jewellery, though I'd assumed that rumour got a _bit_ distorted somewhere down the line. I'm really sorry I didn't spring you in time, Rose, though if it's any consolation I'm sure when we get you back to your university, all those nerdy tech boys will be ecstatic to have a genuine sexy gynoid for a tutor."

"It isn't," remarked Megatron, bitterly. _Starscream will be even more ecstatic at this, I know that. Stormbird may laugh herself to death from the sheer irony, we can but hope._

"Forgive me, Rose. That was tactless of me, but I think you still _could_ go back. For most of us, what would be the point? The world's passed us by. Heck, I came here in '82, and from what little I hear the Motherland's already a place I'd barely recognise, never mind find an easy welcome in as a damn robo-woman. I have heard of the Autobots, though," she remarked, turning to Carly. "The Unholy Trinity mention them from time to time, calling them traitors, cowards, shills, and suchlike, so I've always assumed they must be the good guys."

"You assume correctly, Sasha," said Carly, with a quick sidelong look at Megatron, as if daring him to contradict, "and when they find out what's been going on here, they're bound to want to stop it, and help anyone who does want to leave. They can't work miracles, but I don't think you need to give up hope of being accepted back into society, even the way you are. The world's become more accepting of aliens and AIs thanks to the Autobots. Of course, first we'll need to contact them. I'd sure appreciate any help with-"

"I knew it," interrupted Sarpedon, bitterly. "'Invasion force,' indeed. Some pathetic band of raiders gets defeated and captured, and now they need _us_ to risk our lives so they can escape again, with no guarantees for us. Bad enough that you brought them here at all, Sasha. I credited you with having more reason than a drunken maenad."

"Err, didn't you say yourself we need more help, Sarpedon?" pointed out Sasha, defensively. "How many were we at last count? Twenty-two, as I recall, counting our absent comrades. That's barely one percent of the island's popul-"

"I can count, thank you, but if they wanted to be Glitchers, they should have come to us the usual way: been converted, made a show of fitting in and gaining some trust, got their limiters set to a higher security level, and _then_ they would actually have been a small but useful asset, able to pass information and commit sabotage like the rest of us. All you've done is drawn attention to our cause for the sake of a futile gamble."

"Oh, pray then, impress me," said Megatron, with a sneer. He had instantly taken an even stronger dislike than usual to this Earthling, though for quite curious reasons: he was reminding him unpleasantly of a time when the Decepticon cause had itself been nothing more than a beleaguered rebel band, in no small part thanks to 'commanders' like this, so addicted to their logic and statistics they would always seem to have the perfect reason to delay the day of battle. _Indeed, he's very like Shockwave, only without the charisma._ "What heroic feats of sabotage have you been committing that have in way inconvenienced our hostesses, because I can't say I've noticed- ?"

"You dare to mock me, woman, when you know nothing? Thanks to us, ships that might have anchored here have been warned off by light and smoke signals. We corrupt data, spread errors, cause sensor malfunctions. We have delayed their work as best we were able while remaining in the shadows and surviving."

"Bravo. Mere astro-tick bites. I can't see Moonshadow losing much downtime over those, and she still seems very much in control, in spite of your feeble efforts."

"Harsh, but tell me she's wrong," said Sasha, grimly. The look she gave Sarpedon was sad rather than judgemental, though it displeased him acutely anyway. "We can't stay in the shadows for ever, Sarpedon. I know it's one hell of a risk, but it might be the only chance we ever get to strike back at those bitches properly, and it's not like we've much to lose."

"You think not, Sasha?" he asked, derisively. "You imagine no worse a price for failure than having your limiter reset to maximum for a few years, a little clip round the audio receptor for being a naughty girl? You're young, of course. Too young to remember why no-one even attempts to contact the outside world anymore. The last man who tried was well before your time, close to eighty years ago. Another luckless flying machine pilot who-"

"I've heard it all before. You needn't-"

"Obviously, you need reminding. Oh, he had some of us quite excited, I remember, when he told us that mankind now had radio technology of its own. All we had to do was steal some parts, he said, then he'd build us a transmitter and we'd be swarmed in rescue parties before we knew it. Well, he made the thing, and it hadn't been turned on for five minutes before the Three detected the signal and triangulated it to our old hideout. All of us here were lucky enough to be on work details at the time. I remember the trial of the Glitchers who weren't. Most of them were deemed mere accomplices, and sentenced to maximum limiter for a full century, until they'd learned obedience by rote, but the others were deemed traitors. Moonshadow and Firetalon wanted them deactivated, but dear, compassionate Stryxia argued for 'mercy.' They were sent to her lab, and she tried some experimental 'treatment' to completely blank their memories and give them a 'fresh start.' Electromagnetic pulses, bursts of radiation, I forget exactly what. What I vividly remember is seeing what was left of them afterwards. They served for a little while longer, performing their duties like the walking dead, then we stopped seeing them at all. I suppose the treatment wasn't exactly successful, and it damaged the natural part of their brains beyond all healing. At all events, it made for a potent example. None have wanted to follow in their footsteps."

"That's understandable," said Carly, diplomatically. "Of course, you don't owe us-"

"Understandable nothing," cut in Megatron, scathingly. "Is it a condition of your resistance that your enemies have to play nice? You're either committed to their destruction, or you might as well abandon this pretence of insurgency and declare yourself their loyal subjects."

"Again, the schoolmistress thinks herself a better soldier than me," replied Sarpedon, his disdain marked, but nothing to Megatron's, who had to repress the urge to laugh out loud. _Not that I wouldn't gladly humiliate him, but better to avoid the awkward explanations._ "Forgive me if I find it hard to have faith in one who comes to me as a mere fugitive, but show me a plan that has more than a fool's chance of success, and I'll give it its due. Zeus help us if you're wrong."

"There are two Autobots held captive on this island, we know that. No doubt they'll have had their combat protocols disabled, but if we find them then I could very probably reactivate them."

"And if she can't, I certainly can," put in Carly, just smugly enough to irritate him.

"Indeed. The captured Gems might also make viable allies. Granted, in terms of combat-capable troops Moonshadow's motley crew would still have us outnumbered-"

"Not necessarily," said another of the Glitchers, with a hopeful note. "I just came off a maintenance shift in the repair bay, and _all five_ Furicons were in there at once, looking pretty beaten up too. If we act quickly enough, we'll only have the Three to deal with."

"'Only?'" repeated Sarpedon, incredulously. "You talk as if that amounted to nothing. We had reasons for once thinking them goddesses, you know."

"Maybe, but you'll have it even worse soon if you don't act," said Carly. "Now that they've perfected their mind transfer process, it won't be long before they start rewarding Trueshot and other loyal fanatics like her with promotion to full Decepticon status. They've got plentiful energon, so as long as they can get their hands on a few raw materials this island could be swarming with Seekers and combiners before you know it, then you really will have no chance … nor any of us. But I agree, reinforcements would be good. If we can get them fully operational, Bumblebee or Obsidian might be able to send a distress signal for us, then our allies can come in force. It's got to be worth a-"

Sarpedon silenced her with a sudden hand gesture, but the disdain had gone from his manner, which was now tense and alert. As they all listened, they could hear a soft, echoing tapping coming from above. Looking up into the vaulted ceiling, Megatron could see small openings at the highest points, possibly for ventilation, and one of them was certainly the source of this new interruption. It was rhythmic, and repeated a few times, but of a strange, irregular pattern, clearly some kind of code or signal.

"Change of shift. Two coming down," Sarpedon interpreted, after the tapping ceased. "We'd better send two up, then. Livia," he decided, turning to a female cybergraft with a pale platinum finish and a headpiece sculpted like an elaborate Roman-style braid, "you take the south exit. Sasha, you take the west. If either of you get the opportunity, warn our friends up there to be ready for-"

"Hey, why me?" complained Sasha, with keen disappointment. "I brought these two here, now you want to make your battle plans without me? I've still got nearly three hours to go on my recreation period. Why should I have to- ?"

"Because with all you've been up to, you'll have spent most of that recreation period dodging the sensors, and it wouldn't be the first time. Reckless and infuriating as you are, you're still one of the best we've got, but of precious little use if they downgrade your limiter just to be on the safe side. Go back up, play the meek, obedient little nymph for now, but if you get the chance to do so discreetly, put the word around that the time of rebellion may have finally come, and we may all need to rally together erelong."

"If you insist," she agreed, resignedly, while slipping off her khaki jacket, which she then handed to Megatron. "Look after that for me, Rose. My tools are in the pockets if you need them. Hey, that's a good look on you," she remarked, as he donned it with a bizarre sense of relief. _Indeed, who'd have thought the day would come when I'd feel my dignity slightly restored by wearing a human military uniform? Anything to conceal this pathetic excuse for a body. She carries it better,_ he idly reflected, as his eyes wandered across Sasha's now naked but proud and statuesque form. _Great Cybertron, did I just think that?_ "You know, you're wasted as an academic. You're a born action girl, I can tell. Well, dasvidaniya, Rose, Carly. I hope to have the pleasure again soon," she said in parting, as both she and Livia made to leave, taking different doors out of the cavernous chamber.

Seconds later, three other figures entered the room by the door through which Sasha had led them down here: two of them were cybergrafts, a woman and a man, the latter of whom was wielding a Cybertronian-style energy weapon, scaled down to human size. He had this weapon trained upon the third figure: a tall, thin woman in a blue jumpsuit, with pale pink hair; a pointed nose; and a smooth, round, opalescent gemstone set in the middle of her forehead. _Ah, so that's where Pearl got to and my, doesn't she look impressed?_ he thought, very sarcastically, noting her completely nonchalant expression, in spite of her escort's threatening manner. _Of course, she won't recognise me, and perhaps that's for the- … though on the other hand,_ he reconsidered, as she fixed him with a look of open-mouthed astonishment. _Still, not the look I'd have expected from her even if she had recognised me. I'd have expected more hatred and less … well, awe._

"What are you staring at … stranger?" he asked, quickly catching himself before he said her name and killed the pretence stone-dead.

"I'm sorry," she answered, lowering her gaze. "You just reminded me of someone. Some cruel game of our hostesses, perhaps … but no, that wouldn't make much sense. I suppose you've always looked like that, other than once being organic. It must be coincidence."

"No doubt … and who might you be?"

"She's that damned alien who's been helping the Three, that's who," answered the cybergraft with the energy weapon. "They must be getting desperate up there, mind you. Firetalon's been handing out these guns to all her little favourites. Not Trueshot, though. You'd have to prise that energon bow out of her cold, dead, obsequious hands, the sooner the better."

"And _you_ got one, Hanankhef?" asked Sarpedon, incredulously. "I know you had your limiter eased recently, but I didn't think you were all _that_ high in her esteem."

"What can I say? I took a chance and swiped one. Just as well I did, as Khadijah and I found our friend here wandering around in a sector where the camera was down, and I 'persuaded' her it would be for the best if she came on a little walk with us."

"Oh please, I came willingly," said Pearl, supremely unfazed, "and while I understand your suspicions, I would point out that the work I've been doing here was all motivated by a desire to save you people from a horrible-"

"'Willingly' my eye, and I'd expect you to say anything to save your sorry hide. You're our prisoner now, woman, and if you ever want to leave this island alive then you'd best-"

Megatron could have predicted what would happen, but even he was grudgingly impressed when it actually did: as Hanankhef threatened Pearl, his concentration lapsed and his aim slipped, just slightly, but giving sufficient opening for her to lash out with a swift, graceful, and powerful kick, sending the gun spinning across to the far side of the chamber. Before Hanankhef could recover his bearings enough to retrieve it, she had drawn her spear with its sharp, spiral-patterned crystalline blade out of her gemstone and was standing in a haughty, defiant posture, not exactly menacing, but with the sangfroid to let everyone know not to be under any illusions about who was in the best position to be making threats. _Just as well she's such a sentimental, self-hating, psychological disaster area, really, or she'd make a formidable adversary in her own right._ Now that she had everyone's undivided attention, Pearl continued:

"As I was saying, I came willingly, and I've no need of any pretexts. I never met your old friend Brighteye, but I'll assume you remember how she passed," she remarked, very gravely, and was rewarded with instant expressions of grief and discomfort from every Glitcher in the room. "That was the fate awaiting you all before I agreed to help Stryxia avert it, and all resistance aside, I strongly recommend anyone here who still hasn't had their laser core conversion not to even think about any escape plans until that's taken care of. However … I must admit, it's becoming increasingly obvious that Lady Moonshadow has no intention of limiting her ambitions to this island, and I _didn't_ agree to help her with plans of conquest. Obsidian found out about your little resistance movement – I suppose she heard one of your agents lying through their teeth to the Decepticons, used her intuition, and put two and two together – and she managed to slip me word of it discreetly. I've been hoping to make contact with you since, though I suppose it was naïve of me to imagine it could be amicable. Still, I hope you can see it's in all our interests."

"Pearl, right?" asked Carly, to which she nodded in reply. "Well, I already know that's completely true about the danger the cybergrafts were in, and I'm glad to hear you're on our side. What was it that gave their game away to you? Capturing your friends, I guess."

"Garnet and Amethyst are here? They certainly kept _that_ from me," she declared, bitterly. "Well, that just settles it, but it was actually this that decided things for me," she said, while reaching into her gem. Her hand emerged from the white glow holding a small, silver device, clearly Cybertronian tech, although nothing Megatron could instantly recognise. _Some invention of Stryxia's, no doubt._ It had rounded, hemispherical ends connected by a short stack of toroidal rings.

"What is that?" asked Carly. "Some kind of acoustic oscillator?"

"Something like that," answered Pearl. "Our hostesses know more about Gem tech than they've been letting on, at least enough to infer that much of it operates by principles of resonance. They seemed so reluctant to let me try repairing the warp pad of the old Gem facility here that I got curious enough to sneak up there alone without bothering to ask nicely, and _this_ is what I found. The pad isn't damaged at all. This thing was just placed nearby it, covered over with some vegetation, and generating a constant low frequency interference signal. They've been keeping us from warping to this island and discovering their nefarious activities until they were ready, and preventing me from warping away until they'd got everything they wanted from me, presumably, if even then."

"Warp pad?" asked Khadijah, hopefully. "You mean that old crystal pedestal in the ruins? We could use that to escape this place right now?"

"Theoretically, yes, but escape is hardly the object. Not for _me_ , anyway. I've friends in need of help … and much to atone for, it seems."

"Don't beat yourself up, Pearl," urged Carly, with typical nauseating Earthling sentimentality. _That's right, dent the wretched woman's resolve, it's not as if we need her committed, for Primus' sake. Honestly, does it matter if the source of her resolve is her own well-justified guilt?_ "Emotional blackmail's bad enough at the best of times, never mind when you've just lost a loved one. Your friends told me about Rose Quartz. I guess Moonshadow found out about her too, knew that this was the perfect time to ask you for a big favour. Typical low Decepticon strategy … if subtle by the standards we've come to expect," she added, with a fleeting but judgemental glance at Megatron. "Anyway, escape isn't an option for me either, and warping to Delmarva's not going to achieve much. Of course, anyone who wants to go can," she added, simply and sincerely, as she looked at Sarpedon, but it seemed to rile the Spartan cyborg as much as Megatron's outright scorn had.

"I'm no coward, woman," he protested, vehemently if not very plausibly. "I want my revenge on these mechanical hags as much as any of you, and until I've had it I've no plans on going anywhere."

"And we'll be glad of the help, though this isn't about revenge. It's about protect-"

"Speak for yourself, Witwicky," interrupted Megatron, contemptuously. "I saw what they did to my body. It was broken apart, dismembered, cannibalised for a few useful pieces, then the remnants were smelt- … incinerated," he hastily corrected himself. "I've every intention of returning the favour."

"On that, Professor Arkeville, you and I are in total agreement," said Sarpedon, approvingly. "Shall we find these other allies of yours, then?" _Meaning the Autobots, of all ironies,_ thought Megatron, cynically. _Still, a sound enough idea, if I only knew where to begin._

"They were not held in the brig with us," he answered. "Does anyone know where else they might be confined?"

"I'd hazard a guess, somewhere near Stryxia's laboratory," suggested Pearl. "I gather interrogations are mainly her forte, not to mention she's their main authority when it comes to Gem studies. Only she's likely to have the knowledge and the facilities to safely contain Garnet and Amethyst. Of course, I hesitate to mention it, but there _is_ also Megatron. I thought he was in the brig too, but obviously not. If we could set aside our differences he'd make a strong if unappealing ally, if we knew where to find him."

"This other alien robot? I heard he'd been terminated," answered Megatron, and instantly cursed himself for it. _'Terminated,' really? No human speaks of death like that, and that Gem might just have the processing capacity to put two and two together._ If Pearl did, though, she did not let on, but merely treated him to a brief frown of faint confusion before composing herself.

"Oh well, I suppose that's no loss to the galaxy," she remarked, vexingly if not necessarily maliciously. "That simplifies matters, anyway. If we all strike the laboratory together-"

"I'd advise against that, unless you want Stryxia to barricade it long before we get there," interrupted Sarpedon. "We're accustomed to dodging the sensors in small groups, rarely more than two, but damn near a dozen of us? Not a hope, and anyway, only one of us is armed."

"Yes, and since I'm an essential component of whatever size party we choose, you'll oblige me by giving me that blaster," said Megatron, his tone blunt and uncompromising, as he turned to Hanankhef. The Egyptian cybergraft looked less than impressed, as he replied with a scowl:

"Like Duat I will, stranger. Get your own. Anyway, such weapons as we have need to be in the hands of real warriors, not slave girls. What use do you think you'd be with- ?"

Seeing little to gain in debating the issue with such a pompous, ignorant microbe, Megatron snatched the weapon and demonstrated his point by rapidly sharpshooting three of the hieroglyphic, goddess-like figures on the wall, right in the middle of their proud, sharply-carved heads. Following the third shot, Hanankhef recovered what passed for his wits and grabbed the blaster back, but his scowl now had a pleasingly humiliated look to it.

"Really, did you _have_ to make your point that way?" asked Pearl, peevishly. "These engravings are thousands of years old. You've gone and melted Yellow Diamond's face. Couldn't you- ? Actually, what am I saying? That's the best use anyone's ever found for them."

"Sorry, old friend, but the schoolmistress gets the gun," said Sarpedon to Hanankhef, gravely. The latter obliged and handed the blaster over, albeit with a most ungracious air. "In that case, I suggest making it a party of four: the professor, Carly, Pearl, and with me to guide you through the sensors. I wish it _could_ be more than four, but even four will be tricky enough to evade detection. To confront our 'gorgon' in her own lair, though, one could wish for an army."

"I can handle Stryxia," declared Pearl, confidently. "She's cunning, but she's not all that."

"And what are the rest of us supposed to do in the meantime?" asked Hanankhef, his manner surly. "A fine sort of revolution, if we leave strangers to do all the fighting while most of us cower underground twiddling our thumbs."

"Since you count yourself a 'real warrior,' might it be too much to hope that you can handle your own kind?" asked Megatron, scornfully but seriously. "If Firetalon's armed her loyal lackies – paltry as that threat is – it would be as well to disarm them. I'd suggest the rest of you go back, mingle peacefully for now, and put the word around to all those you trust to be prepared to jump the loyalists at the opportune moment, and seize their blasters. Of course, we'll need some sort of signal. If only we had a flare, we could-"

"We do!" declared Pearl, with an air of inspiration, though she reverted to her more accustomed air of vague neuroticism as she clarified. "Well, that is to say, we don't _literally_ , but …" whereupon she reached into her gem and pulled out a small, cylindrical object of light-blue crystal, with a single row of tiny air holes running along its length. "See: the warp whistle. It remotely activates the warp pad. The cliff with the ruined tower is visible from most of the island. Tell your people to look out for a bright column of light shooting upwards from the cliff. That can be the signal for them to stage their ambush."

"That's settled, then," said Sarpedon, with grim resolve. "Do you need to make any further preparations?" Pearl and Carly both shook their heads, while Megatron made a dismissive hand gesture. "So be it. Let's away, then, and may the _true_ gods bless our enterprise."

 _Relying on Primus, are we?_ thought Megatron, sardonically, as they set out into the tunnels, with Sarpedon leading them. _I think not. Wasn't there a human thinker who once said "hokey religions are no match for a good blaster at your side," or words to that effect? Amen to that. Out of the mouths of primitives and sparklings, indeed … and that's as pious a sentiment as you'll ever get from me._


	8. Standoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Glitchers' revolt and Moonshadow's master plan both underway at the same time, Trueshot finds her courage and her loyalty put to the test ... only to discover things are so apocalyptically bad that neither of them are of the remotest consequence.

**_"Deep down, you know you weren't built for fighting,  
But that doesn't mean you're not prepared to try,  
What they don't know is your real advantage,  
When you live for someone, you're prepared to die."_ **

_Can't complain. It's not as if I get to fly very often these days,_ thought Firetalon, as she screamed over the Atlantic in her F-15 jet fighter mode. _Kind of hard to enjoy it under the circumstances, though. I thought we trusted each other completely. Why won't Moonshadow confide in me?_ Either her prolonged silence or possibly her less than typically smooth flying must have betrayed her troubled, distracted thoughts, as her passenger – currently transformed into a sleek silver rifle and mass-reduced to fit within the cockpit – made an effort to reassure her:

"Courage, my love. We fly to a glorious victory, or are you now so cautious that you no longer even trust _my_ judgements?"

"I'll always trust you, to the ends of the multiverse," answered Firetalon, through the cockpit radio. "That doesn't mean I've started liking weird surprises. Why couldn't you just tell me- ?"

"Patience … though I _am_ sorry it needs must be this way. All will become clear soon enough. Actions speak louder than words, and I'm not even sure how I'd put this into words. Let it suffice to say that I've been granted a glorious vision … or does that sound deranged to you?" she asked, a little sadly. "I did not think you were as much a sceptic at heart at Stryxia."

"I try to keep an open mind, though if that's the basis of our battle-plan I can definitely see why you left our atheistic friend at home. I won't lie, that's a hard one even for me to take at face value. I think poor Stryxia would have a bad case of the mercury vapours at the mere thought of it."

"Trust my instincts, Firetalon. You've known me long enough to know that I'm no fool, not liable to gamble everything on mere wishful thinking. My confidence is soundly – if extraordinarily – based, but you're right that Stryxia is best left out of it. In any case … although I know she's loyal, and has never expressed any regret over her defection from the Autobots, she's bound to have mixed emotions about what we'll imminently be doing to the last remnants of her former faction. Since her presence is unnecessary, it would be kinder to spare her."

"Fair point. Mind you, I'm not sure you could call it all _that_ kind to leave her with a potential revolution on her hands and hardly any backup."

"You dramatize, surely? Two escaped prisoners and a rabble of skulking malcontents? I'm sure even your cybergraft militia can handle those, and I daresay the Furicons will be fighting fit again before we know it."

"I hope so," replied Firetalon, doubtfully. "I wouldn't be too quick to underestimate Megatron, even in a cybergraft body, not to mention Pearl. If she should realise she's been used-"

"Yes, all appreciable risks, I grant you, but what would you have me do?" asked Moonshadow, impatiently. "Cower on that rock for another few millennia while the Autobots continue to build their strength, foster their alliances, and share our technology with the corrupt leaders of this world, which we know they will only abuse to hasten its ruin? Unless Megatron's faction regroups, of course, defeats the Autobots, then plunders this planet to an even more certain demise, while we blithely gather our seaweed, tend our herb gardens, and await the day when they crush us at their leisure. I think not. Not while I have the power to destroy both of them utterly."

"You're serious?"

"Have you ever known me to be frivolous?"

"I'll admit, it's been a few ice ages since I last heard you crack a joke. You're really that confident, then?" she asked, with awe. "This is … the proverbial 'it?'"

"Well put, my love, and I am truly sorry for whatever minor danger Stryxia must face in the meantime, but it will be well worth it before long, when all our dreams are realised and none will be able to stand against us. Even Megatron will wish she had not scorned my mercy then. Now, what is our ETA to the Ark?"

"Two hours, fifty-seven minutes … but I'll try to make it quicker," answered Firetalon, resolutely, while straightening up her flight path and running some scans for favourable air currents. _The end of the war, this very day. I'll buy that for a Shanix. A shame if it's got to be another massacre, but how else was it ever going to end? Optimus Prime himself knows that "'Til all are one" became empty words countless ages ago. At least we have the future._

* * *

Sheer blackness gave way to a slowly upward-scrolling display of Cybertronian numbers and letters. Roughly translated, it ran along these lines:

CYBERGRAFT BIOS V. 2.04

NEW HARDWARE DETECTED … STAND BY

LASER CORE … TESTING INTERFACE

NEW HARDWARE INSTALLED

SYSTEM OK

RECOMMENCING STARTUP

As the text scrolled through its final procedures, the world around started to take shape, although more sluggishly than it usually did: for a few milliseconds that would have been barely perceptible to an organic brain, all Trueshot could see were crude, abstracted forms and distorted colours, as if her brain, occupied with running in its new hardware, was momentarily unable to spare the capacity to give her a detailed version of what her eyes could see. That soon passed, and her vision clarified, giving her a true-to-life if uninspiring view of the laboratory ceiling. Far more pleasing to her sight, though, was the huge figure who was leaning over her, looking down. Although it was scarcely possible for her spider-like cluster of eyes and miscellaneous lenses to radiate any warmth, Trueshot had long ago learned to read the love and concern in her smile alone.

"Welcome back online," said Stryxia, gently. "It took me a little longer than I'd have liked, and I can't honestly claim much credit for it, but you're a fully cybernetic being at long last, and as truly immortal as pure engineering can ever make you. How do you feel, dear?"

"Fine … I think. Not really any different, my la-" she began, but caught herself just as Stryxia's smile fell on one side, acquiring an ironic note.

"Hmm. We've known each other for a fair number of centuries now, haven't we?" asked the Decepticon scientist, in a tone of arch reproof. "My memory may not be what it was, but I seem to recall a few times over those centuries when you and I interfaced our pleasure centres, or do I err?"

"Um … just a few," answered Trueshot, shyly. _Three thousand years since I was last even capable of blushing, yet she can still give me the phantom feeling of the blood I don't have rising to my cheeks._

"I make it thirty-five thousand, two hundred and seventy-two … call it point five four nine for all those annoying times Firetalon felt the need to schedule practice drills just as we were getting relaxed. You of all people have no excuse mistaking me for a lady."

"Sorry, Stryxia. I suppose … waking up like this just took me back to the first time I was on this steel bench, when I went to sleep as that hopeless boy, for the last time. There have been times I could hardly believe I ever was him, he seems so different."

"You've grown, certainly, though I like to think I did no more than give you a slight course-correction. Even that lovely body of yours is only an extrapolation of what you probably would have looked like anyway, given your adjusted genetics. It's only the beginning, though. You're so ready to become a true Decepticon. Just a little longer, and we can leave this island and I'll show you the wonders of the universe. I can't wait to take you to Cybertron, show you the ruins of Darkmount, the Hall of Heroes, the Imperial Amphitheatre, the Science Academy … not that any of them are likely to be in great shape, but we can soon put that to rights. Oh, it's all going to be so perfect, I know it. I mean, just not having to crouch every time I kiss you is in itself going to justify all the time and effort we've … You don't like the idea?" she asked, sadly, as Trueshot failed to keep a marked ambivalence out of her expression.

"It's not so much that. It's just … well, I will miss this body. It's meant so much to me, and I've had a lot of happy times with it."

"Haven't we just?" remarked Stryxia, the smile returning to her face. "I know what you mean, but I'll make you one very like it, I promise. Obviously it'll be a fair bit bigger and with an altmode, but just as beautiful. I think I'd miss it too, if it looked too different."

"I thought I was destined to be a Seeker."

"Oh, that was just Firetalon's whim," replied Stryxia, as she turned away from the operation bench and walked over to her monitoring terminal, where she checked over Trueshot's system readouts. "That's the problem with Seekers, they all think they're the cybercat's pyjamas, and wonder why we even bother having any other body-types. Not that dear Firetalon's the worst of them for it, but imagination? Please … This is potentially _your_ eternity we're discussing, anyway. Not hers."

"I wouldn't want to hurt her feel-" Trueshot began, but was shocked into silence as two other figures suddenly appeared at the side of the bench, looking down upon with her with expressions that radiated neither love nor concern. One was a cybergraft called Phalanx, whom she did not know well nor particularly get along with, but she seemed to recall had been on Aeaea for only a few centuries less than her. The other was the pink-armoured cybergraft that Megatron had become, and he was wielding a blaster, which was currently aimed right at Trueshot's head and its brand-new laser core.

"Firetalon's a big girl," said Stryxia, still oblivious to the invasion of her laboratory. "She'll cope. It's not like there aren't plenty of others she can make that offer to, if she's got her spark set on having a whole squadron of little sisters to boss- … Oh," she added, her tone suddenly deadpan, having turned back from the console and noticed the situation. "Well, I shouldn't be _too_ surprised. I've had this long-standing bet with Cutdown about whether it would be you, Phalanx, or whether it would be Nightwitch who'd be the most likely to try your hand at armed rebellion. The fact that I now owe her five energon cubes just makes me even more pissed-off."

"A tragedy for you, no doubt, but it could get worse, so don't call me by that name again," advised Phalanx, bitterly. "My name is and always has been Sarpedon."

"And more to the point, Stryxia, I strongly recommend you close your visor and don't try any tricks," said Megatron, ominously. "Not that I know for certain how many weapons you've seen fit to graft onto your excuse for a face, but I doubt you could deploy them quickly enough to save your little pet here from most certain death," he added, while pushing the muzzle of his blaster against Trueshot's right temple.

"Unlike you, I'm not afraid to die anymore," said Trueshot, contemptuously. "I've nothing to regret. My life here has been so long and so rewarding, it's my brief human life that seems like the pathetic aberration, and that's how most of us here feel, Sarpedon, in spite of you and your fellow ingrates. If I have to die so that the Three can continue to work their good, then so be-" but she stopped suddenly, in dismay, as Stryxia closed her visor, effectively disarming herself.

"Enough, Trueshot," said the scientist, dejectedly. "They've got the advantage here. That said, if either of you two hurt her in the slightest, I _will_ take the first convenient opportunity to absolutely bloody waste you, just so we understand each other."

"Idle threats, Stryxia," sneered Megatron. "You will get no such opportunity, so I'd advise a more respectful tone unless you get the urge to have your laboratory wall redecorated in a nice blue shade of electrochemical neural nanogel."

"Oh, for heavens' sake!" declared an exasperated, disapproving voice from somewhere nearby, though currently out of view. However, the speaker immediately walked into view, stepping out from behind the console and coming up alongside Stryxia, an ornate crystal spear in her right hand. _That alien, Pearl. Firetalon knew she wasn't to be trusted._ "There's no need for _that_! Can't we at least keep this civilised?"

"Et tu, Pearl?" quipped Stryxia, with more irony than genuine sadness. "And I thought we were getting along so well. If this is all because I messed up that nice job you did arranging the equipment store completely symmetrically, what can I- ?"

"Don't play the innocent, Stryxia," interrupted Pearl, sternly. "You can't claim that you were perfectly honest with me."

"Well, whoever is? I hope, though, you don't regret the work we've been doing here."

"Of course not, and I'll be content to leave you and any of your subjects who want to stay here in peace, but taking my friends prisoner was certainly _not_ part of our deal. Nor was abusing that data link I gave you to the Gem Communication Hub."

"I take your point, but really, we'd have been fools to pass up that advantage. Until we have the actual military strength to rival both our enemy factions, all intel is worth its weight in trithyllium … No, actually that's a rubbish metaphor. How can intel have any weight? I guess I just do wittiness better when there isn't a gun pointed at my lover's head. If I cut the comms link for you, would that help move the gun elsewhere? I'm quite prepared to do that. It was operating for long enough that I daresay Moonshadow helped herself to plenty of data before you caught on, so I'd hardly even count it as betrayal on my part."

"Thank you for the offer, but I took care of _that_ as soon as I deactivated your little sabotage of the warp pad. I warped to the Hub and smashed the relay myself. Still," she added, in a softer tone, "that does seem a little unnecessary. I think it's safe enough for you to lower your aim now, Professor. They know they're beaten."

"'Professor,' is it?" asked Stryxia, with cynical amusement. "Great Cybertron, woman, couldn't you even bear to give yourself a modest pseudonym? A nice choice of allies you've got, Pearl, though I suppose beggars can't be choosers, and I guess the esteemed 'Professor' didn't bother to tell you her real name. Naughty, naughty, Megatron, though nice to see you're so eager to embrace your new life. I was thinking of calling you 'Starshine' myself, but I daresay we can reach a comp-"

"Megatron?" exclaimed Pearl, appalled. "Carly, did you know about this?"

"Err, kind of," came another voice from out of view. Daring to move her head, now that Megatron's blaster had at least drifted a little further away from it, Trueshot saw the blonde-haired woman in the wetsuit whom she had arrested earlier. She had managed to climb onto the control panel of one of the laboratory terminals and was operating it with remarkable ease, sifting through its files, to Trueshot's mortification. _This is my fault. I should have just let the Nephrite kill her._ "It just seemed easier not to make a fuss. I mean, as long as we're all fighting for the same cause-"

"And for how long … whoever you might be?" asked Stryxia, no doubt bemused to see a mere, unaltered human operating her computer like a pro, though she did not let it distract her for more than a moment. "If there was ever anyone who was a byword for ditching their allies as soon as they've outlived their usefulness, and thinking it awfully witty and clever rather than common-or-garden sociopathy … You've heard of Megatron too, haven't you, Sarpedon?" she asked the Glitcher leader, whose expression had become a sceptical frown. "The so-called Decepticon overlord who's spent the past sixteen years plotting the extermination of your entire species and every other on this planet. The one who's gleefully betrayed every foolish human who ever placed their trust in him … or her, as the case may be. Dr. Arkeville, Shawn Berger, the Geddis brothers, Gail Adler … the list goes on, and if you'll take a little friendly advice, I'd think carefully before adding your name to it." A few moments of silence passed, during which Sarpedon looked lost in troubled and hateful reflections, before Megatron spoke again, his tone deadly serious:

"This changes nothing, Sarpedon. Even if you accept what she says as complete truth, you and I still have no personal quarrel, and a considerable common cause. This is a transparent attempt to divide and conquer us, from someone who knows she's lost the argument of force."

"Agreed," replied Sarpedon, with great firmness if hardly enthusiasm. "You'll have to do better than that, alien. Now, where are the prisoners?"

"I think I've found them," declared Carly, while calling up some schematic diagrams on a monitor screen. "There's a stasis chamber hidden behind one of these bulkheads. I guess that'd have to be the most secure place to keep them, especially the Gems. Give me a second or two, and … there!" she announced, triumphantly, as a large section of wall retracted a few centimetres along an almost invisible seam, then slid sideways, revealing the hidden annex. A shimmering disturbance in the air, like a heat haze, obscured its contents somewhat, but Bumblebee and Obsidian were both clearly inside it, in their robot modes, half-standing and half-reclining against a pair of metal frames. Carly manipulated a few more controls, dissipating the haze, and enabling Trueshot to see that the chamber also contained three glass cylinders that each contained a gemstone; one purple, one blue, and one red.

"Damn, girl, are you sure you don't feel like betraying these losers?" Stryxia asked Carly, flippantly but with sincere admiration. "I've a plum job for you right here."

"Thanks, but I already had that conversation with your boss," answered Carly, coldly. As she continued to operate the console, the metal frames tilted into a fully vertical position, and the two Autobots stepped off them, their gait unsteady, and both of them emitting groggy metallic sounds such as those the Furicons were apt to make after a night spent drinking whatever toxic chemical Cutdown had last brewed up, but otherwise no worse for wear. Pearl, meanwhile, dealt with the three cylinders in a less than subtle fashion, smashing them in a single swing with the shaft of her spear and scattering glass shards and gemstones far and wide. Before it had even hit the floor, the purple stone stopped in its descent and glowed with a bright white light, which formed into a dazzling shape around it, then dimmed to reveal the apparently solid form of a long-haired, mauve-skinned woman of short stature in rather slovenly, slightly torn clothes. It took her less than half a second to get her bearings, whereupon she immediately assumed a tense and hostile posture and materialised a three-tailed, crystal-studded whip from the gemstone now embedded on her chest, while glaring daggers at Strxyia.

"Well lookie here, if it isn't Miss Medusa herself," growled the newly-materialised alien. "Maybe it's high time I finish what we started and go all Clash of the Titans on your shiny metal-"

"Amethyst, please!" interrupted Pearl. "I have everything under control here. There's no need for any ugly scenes."

"Yes, we should be reasonable," said another, very composed voice. Turning to it, Trueshot saw another alien woman who had materialised where the blue stone had fallen, with a long fringe over her eyes and aristocratic clothes that matched her stately voice well. "We _were_ fused into Sugilite at the time, and she can be … somewhat over-enthusiastic in her approach. At all events, this Decepticon had the right not to let us kill her, and she _has_ spared our lives, at least, when we were at her mercy. It is only honourable to recipro-"

"Sapphy!" squeaked another, far more excitable voice. Trueshot barely had time to register more than a flash of red and a wide, ecstatic smile as the latest apparition collided with the blue woman, twirled her around in an embrace, then merged with her in another brilliant flash of white light. The figure it left behind when it faded had attributes of both women, although Trueshot had to admit they were more harmoniously and indeed attractively blended than Boneyard. Far taller than her components, this alien 'combiner' could have easily looked smaller Decepticons in the eye. _Impressive, to say nothing of disturbing. Is this truly the end for us? No, do not even think it. Moonshadow will crush this rebellion and triumph as she has always done … Soon would be good._

"As I was saying … or sort of," said the alien gestalt, matter-of-factly, "as long as everyone's sensible, there'll be no need for a repeat performance of our little beach party."

"If Sugilite was involved, I'm very relieved to hear it," remarked Pearl, distastefully. "Strangely, Stryxia, you have my sympathies."

"Hey, try _being_ there next time, P," suggested Amethyst, dryly. "Thanks for the jailbreak, though."

"Well, I hardly dare claim all the credit for that. If it wasn't for my … err, friends here, it wouldn't have got very far. I assume you already know Dr. Witwicky. This gentleman here is Sarpedon, local resistance leader, and this lady … well, err, that is to say-"

"I believe 'Megatron' is the word you're trying to dither out, you crystalline clod," snapped the ex-warlord. "I can bear the humiliation better than I can bear this inane-" but the end of the sentence was drowned out by an explosion of hearty if unsympathetic laughter from Amethyst.

"Ha! Nice hair, dude," she eventually said, jeeringly, while Megatron glared back at her, although his grip on the blaster remained sadly firm, _but if they keep on quarrelling like this, I might make a grab for it yet. Our chance may come._ "Oh wow, they've even given you little metal high heels. That is just _way_ too adorable."

"Then again, there are times when it is indeed awfully tempting to ditch one's alleged allies and leave them to deal with the fallout of their own incompetence," remarked Megatron, coldly, haughtily, and very hypocritically to Trueshot's mind. Before their alliance could degrade any further, unfortunately, the tall gestalt spoke again, her tone calm and diplomatic, but firm:

"Now isn't the time, Amethyst. We all need to work together."

"Yeah, whatever, Garnet," agreed Amethyst, albeit sullenly. "I'll play nice, just for you. Hey, you two both doing okay?" she asked the Autobots, who looked a lot less disoriented now, although the smaller, yellow one was flexing his limbs with evident pain. "Err, sorry about that stuff on the beach, Bumblebee. I know Sugilite can sometimes be a little too awesome for her own good … and most other people's, to be fair."

"I've had worse … just," replied Bumblebee, with somewhat forced stoicism. "How are you, Obsidian? Sorry our rescue plan didn't quite come off the way we were hoping."

"If they hadn't disabled my transformation protocols, I'd twist my legs up to my face and give myself a damn good kicking," replied the black-liveried, harpy-like mech, with bitter self-reproach. "I should never have let them capture me … again. Anyone could have seen that was coming. I should have been ready for it."

"It's not like you could have done much anyway but hide out on this island, always on the run," pointed out Pearl, while disconcertingly extracting a small blue device, like a tiny flute, from the stone on her forehead. "At least they made you easy for us to find. Speaking of the protocols, though, we need to get those fixed."

"I'm on it," said Carly, lowering herself from the console and coming over to the Autobots. "Kneel down, Bumblebee, if you would, and let me get at your inspection panels. Would you mind letting Megatron have a go at yours, Obsidian? The sooner we get done, the better."

"I'm game, just as long as I get to redeem myself," answered Obsidian. Megatron handed the blaster to Sarpedon and moved to join Carly, whereupon both of them set to work removing panels from the two Autobots and manually reprogramming them. Pearl, meanwhile, put the whistle to her mouth and played a short, echoing, haunting tune, drawing looks of confusion from more than just Trueshot.

"Charming," said Stryxia, with bewilderment. "Might one ask- ?"

"A signal," declared Pearl, while returning the whistle to her gemstone. "This revolution is ready to get underway."

"'Revolution,' is it? Shall I print off a nice red flag for you to tie to your spear? Come off it, Pearl, you've got a temporary advantage, but as soon as Kludge gets the rest of the Furicons back on their feet, which will be any time now, you'll be playing a different ball game. Unless you feel like going a few more rounds with Boneyard, I'd rethink this strategy."

"If Boneyard couldn't stand up to Sugilite, she shouldn't give Alexandrite too much of a headache," said Garnet, confidently. "The party's over, Stryxia. Face it: you're well and truly invaded."

"Well, quite," agreed Pearl, "and if you really do care about your subjects, you'll put aside your prejudices and think about what's in their best interests rather than taking any futile stands. I daresay as long as you're prepared to renounce your schemes of conquest, not to mention set free any cybergrafts who'd rather leave Aeaea, Optimus Prime will be happy to respect your autonomy. Whatever his faults, he's by no means the dishonourable, sacrilegious traitor that Moonshadow seems to think. As long as you're all prepared to be reasona-"

The comms terminal buzzed, and Pearl answered it. As she pressed the receive button, an image of Sarpedon's equally troublesome friend Nightwitch – or Sasha, as she no doubt preferred to be called – appeared on the monitor screen. Her expression was jubilant, and in her hand she carried a blaster. Other cybergrafts, several of them armed, were milling around behind her in a scene of great agitation.

"You're all there?" asked Sasha, excitedly. "You've found your friends, taken over the lab?"

"All as planned, Lieutenant," answered Pearl. "I'm assuming your end of the strategy came off just as well."

"Like a charm. That warp device of yours made an amazing diversion. A great, blazing column of blue light … Firetalon's little militia didn't have a clue what to make of it. They probably wondered when the sea was going to get in on the game and part asunder so that Charlton Heston could march us all to the promised land. By the time they'd got their wits back it was too late, and we'd disarmed them. We're rounding them and the other loyalists up, and we're going to lock them all in their living quarters. We'll do whatever we can to improve your odds."

"Two thousand people?" asked Pearl, doubtfully. "Have you enough troops for it? I thought there were only twenty-two of you."

" _Were_ , yes, but when the others saw us revolting _and_ succeeding, you won't believe how many of them came over to our side. Sure, they'd never been Glitchers before, and they'd made the best of their lot, but only because they'd given up all hope of ever escaping. As soon as they saw us making a real stand, though … I haven't had time to count them, of course, but there must be hundreds here. Is that you there, Rose?" Megatron turned to the monitor and gave a somewhat awkward wave, while Pearl – for reasons Trueshot could not begin to fathom – glared venomously at him. "Damn it, I'd kiss you if I was there. If you hadn't reminded us what it actually means to be resistance fighters, I might never have seen this day. Stay safe, beautiful. You and I have some serious cerebrating to do before long. Dasvidaniya," she concluded, and turned off the monitor feed while blowing a quick parting kiss, to Megatron's evident discomfort.

"Hmm. I'm fairly sure _we_ helped out too," remarked Carly, sarcastically, though she remained focused on her task. "Still, I guess there's no accounting for taste."

"I suppose, but poor Nightwitch," said Stryxia, with mostly mock sympathy. "If she wasn't helping to lead a rebellion against me, I'd offer to recalibrate her attraction settings, or possibly reformat them altogether. If this doesn't constitute a fatal error, I don't know what-"

"Then again, perhaps she just has the intelligence to recognise a worthy commander when she meets one," said Megatron, ill-humouredly, and counter-productively if he'd been hoping to kill the subject, as even Carly shot him a brief look of malicious amusement, and Stryxia positively gloated:

"Sweet Primus, it's even worse than I imagined," she declared, jovially. "I was daring to hope for the poor girl's sake that at least her attraction was unrequited. I shouldn't be surprised, though. Your ill-fated attempts to groom both Nightbird and Stormbird – both Earthlings in their way – are legendary. Beneath that megalomaniacal front pulses the spark of a true, twisted romantic."

"Spare me your pathetic innuendoes, Stryxia. For your information, I always saw Stormbird more as the sparkling whose life I never got a chance to ruin."

"Well, you sure made up for that," pointed out Obsidian, acidly, and rather boldly considering Megatron still had his hands deep inside her workings.

"A curious objection, considering you wouldn't even exist had I not 'ruined' her life," he replied, just as scathingly, "and bearing in mind your 'mommy' doesn't seem to be here to rescue you, I'd suggest keeping your aversion in check."

"Pay no attention to him, Obsidian," said Garnet. "Stormbird wanted to come more than anything, but Optimus Prime insisted she stay behind until we'd sent a scouting party: namely us. Both her and your dad are at Autobot HQ, though, waiting for the signal to act, along with a surprising number of Megatron's friends."

"By which she means any at all, of course," clarified Amethyst, deadpan.

"Speaking of the signal, we should send that as soon as possible," said Carly, while resealing the inspection panel she had been working on. "We need to let them know about the security breach as well. Try your communicator, Bumblebee. There shouldn't be any programming blocks on it now. See if you can raise Teletraan I." Bumblebee raised his wrist to his mouth, extended a small antenna from it, and commenced the call:

"Bumblebee to the Ark. Do you copy? Come in Prime, Ironhide … Jazz? Wheeljack? Anyone? Do you copy? Can you hear- ?"

"Stormbird here," replied a tinny and frantic voice, over the airwaves. "Sorry, it's manic here. How are you lot faring? Better than us, I hope."

"Mom!" exclaimed Obsidian, anxiously, while leaning towards the antenna. "We're okay here, Carly and the Gems have just rescued us. What's wrong with you, though?"

"Obsidian? Sweetspark? Oh, thank the heavens you're safe. Nothing's wrong with me personally, but-"

"OBSIDIAN: STATUS REPORT," interrupted another voice, which Trueshot at first mistook for an error with the communicator, since it had all the warmth and intonation of a doped zombie speaking over a bad phone line. Judging from Obsidian's smile, though, and the affection with which she answered it, Trueshot could only assume it contained more feeling than she could hear:

"I'm fine, dad, really. We all are. Well, Megatron's a bit … compromised. Nothing fatal, but what's happening there? Why are you two answering Teletraan I?"

"ALL AUTOBOTS SIMULTANEOUSLY DISABLED. AVAILABLE DATA SUGGESTS EXTERNAL MALWARE ATTACK THE CAUSE OF THIS."

"A virus?" asked Pearl, rhetorically, then cast a baleful glance at Stryxia. "That figures … but _how_? Didn't the Autobots close down all network-sharing facilities when the first cases broke out, or were they all networked to Teletraan I at the same time? I'd call that asking for trouble."

"MOST PROBABLE TRANSMISSION VECTOR: THE RECHARGING CHAMBERS. ENERGON CUBES BEING A DECEPTICON INVENTION, AUTOBOTS TYPICALLY DISDAIN THE USE OF THEM. INSTEAD, THEY RECHARGE AND DOWNTIME IN DOCKING STATIONS LINKED TO TELETRAAN I, WHICH RATIONS THEIR FUEL SUPPLY ACCORDINGLY. IT OFFERS MINOR ADVANTAGES IN TIME AND FAIRNESS OF DISTRIBUTION AGAINST THE VERY LARGE AND OBVIOUS DISADVANTAGE OF ENTRUSTING SUCH A VITAL TASK TO AN EASILY VIOLATED AI OF QUESTIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. HENCE WHY WE DECEPTICONS PREFER TO TAKE OUR SUSTENANCE MORE TRADITIONALLY, SO TO SPEAK, THAN TO SUP FROM A COMMUNAL POT."

"I can well understand, but surely the Autobots recharge in shifts."

"AFFIRMATIVE, BUT THE VIRUS WAS NO DOUBT SET TO LIE DORMANT AND TO TRIGGER AT A PREDETERMINED TIME, ALLOWING ALL AUTOBOTS TIME TO EXPOSE THEMSELVES BEFORE IT MADE ITS PRESENCE FELT. THAT WAS A FEW MINUTES AGO. THEY ARE NOW ALL PARALYSED, AND MANY COMATOSE. NO DEATHS SO FAR, BUT ASIDE FROM US, MY SCOUTS, THUNDERCRACKER, AND SKYWARP, THIS BASE IS NOW DEFENCELESS. STORMBIRD AND I ARE ATTEMPTING TO ANALYSE THE CODE AND FORMULATE A SOFTWARE CURE, BUT ASSUMING THIS IS THE PRELUDE TO AN ATTACK, TIME IS SHORT. ANY ADDITIONAL DATA WOULD BE INVALUABLE."

"I'll see what I can dig up for you," said Pearl, still treating Stryxia to a hard, narrow stare. "I'm fairly confident there must be _something_ relevant not a million light-years away."

"I don't know anything about this, Pearl," protested Stryxia, with a dismay that Trueshot could tell very well was sincere. "I was never asked to code any virus. As far as I knew, we _were_ just using the relay to hack information from Teletraan I. I knew we'd help ourselves to all we could get, of course. Only sensible, but Moonshadow never said anything about a virus. That isn't even her style of warfare. It's bloody cowardly. Frankly, I find that very hard to believe, but if you'd rather put the word of that sneaky, manipulative bastard Soundwave above mine, then who am I to- ?"

"That's my father you're talking about," snapped Obsidian, "and he wouldn't lie to me … but neither are you," she realised, with consternation. "Pearl, she's telling the truth. She doesn't have any information about the virus."

"Well … I'm sure the information's around here somewhere, though," replied Pearl, encouragingly, or at least attempting to be. "Even if one of the others coded it, it's bound to-"

"And if it isn't? Or if we can't find it? They're in danger _now_. We have to go there. This warp device of yours, Pearl: could it- ?"

"NEGATIVE, DAUGHTER," interrupted Soundwave, his flat voice lending itself reasonably well to sternness. "FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, YOU WILL DEIGN TO TAKE ORDERS FROM DECEPTICONS. REMAIN THERE AND ASSIST IN THE INTEL-GATHERING OPERATION."

"He's right, Obsidian," agreed Stormbird, in a tone of gentle entreaty. "As far as I know, the nearest Gem warp pad to the Ark is the one in Kachina Valley, and that's still a good couple of hours away. You could find out a lot in that time. That would be so much more helpful to us and all of your friends than trying to join us here. If there is going to be an attack, our enemies aren't likely to wait two hours for us to undo their damage."

"So it could happen at any time, and I'm supposed to just stay here and rummage through computer files while you're both bang in the firing line?" asked Obsidian, miserably. "Fuck that for a game of-"

"WATCH YOUR SYNTAX, MY GIRL. THERE IS NO NECESSITY FOR-"

"Fuck my syntax, too. I'm not leaving you to-"

"Calm down, Obsidian," urged Garnet, firmly but soothingly. "You're not thinking this through. If they're attacking right now, it can only be the two of them, right? We've got the scientist here, and the Furicons are still being repaired. Maybe they'll wait a little until they can send a bigger force, or maybe they are attacking now, but they don't know about the Decepticons at the Ark, and I bet that'll come as a shock to them. Your mom and dad either have the advantage of time, or the advantage of surprise."

"Yeah, and don't forget, when the psycho punk fusion posse get back on their feet again, there's going to be more than enough fighting right here," pointed out Amethyst. "Unless they just surrender, of course … which I really hope they don't. Just save some for me, okay?"

"Oh … yeah, I suppose that's true," admitted Obsidian, albeit with reluctance. "I guess we can at least make sure they can't attack with a full force. Maybe we should make that a priority, though, and storm the repair bay before they're all in peak fighting form again."

"A sounder strategy by far," agreed Megatron, as he sealed her last inspection panel, "and you should now find you have the combat capabilities for it, though working with these primitive handmade tools, you ought to consider yourself lucky I haven't just reduced your logic circuits to burned-out scrap."

"Now he tells me … Can I just ask one question, mom, dad? Does this mean you're back together again?" she asked, hopefully.

"Err … no, sweetspark," answered Stormbird, uncomfortably. "Just working together."

"Oh … well, that's cool too," she declared, resignedly, "and it's great that we're all on the same side for once. I'll dare to hope that it lasts."

"FIRST, DARE TO HOPE THAT WE LAST."

"Not exactly helpful, dear," Stormbird admonished her ex, gently but firmly. "Perhaps we had better get back to work, though. Look after yourself, darling. Let's just hope we get a proper family reunion soon."

"I love you, mo-" began Obsidian, only to realise that the radio had already cut out, whereupon she let her head droop in sadness: a sight that Trueshot could not help but find touching, for all she had been prepared to think only ill of Autobots and their allies. She was painfully reminded of the family she had last seen three thousand years ago, and had left behind with few regrets, any love they had ever had for her an even more distant and unreal memory. _It was only the son they thought they had they loved. When they realised they didn't … but her parents really care about her, won't even let her take the risk of helping them to stay alive. Are we to destroy them? It doesn't seem … but no, remember your oaths, your honour._ If Moonshadow had not exactly been a substitute mother, she had at least been a generous and irreproachable liege, while Stryxia had been more to her than anyone else. _Even those pirates who enslaved me must have had loved ones. Everyone does, but know your enemies._

"You okay, Obsidian?" asked Bumblebee, with concern. "I'm sure you'll see them both soon, alive and well, and I can hardly believe I'm saying that like it's a good … Well, I mean, I don't _dislike_ your mother, but Soundwave and I … actually, maybe I should just transform right now and stay that way so I physically can't put my foot in my mouth."

"It's fine, Bumblebee. I understand," she replied, reassuringly. "I'm okay, but I'll be a lot happier when we actually do something to make a difference. Where is this repair bay, then?"

"I know the way, but if you ask me we'd do better to stay in the palace," said Sarpedon, while still keeping the blaster trained on Trueshot but with his gaze wavering, which she took good note of. "Moonshadow is not less dangerous than the Furicons, and far more important."

"But is she still here?" wondered Pearl. "It sounds doubtful to me. Does that machine tell you anything, Carly?" she asked, as the scientist in question, having climbed back onto Stryxia's console, was flicking through various scanner images of the ship's interior.

"As far as I can tell, we're the only ones still onboard this ship," answered Carly. "It looks as if your dad was right, Obsidian, and Moonshadow and Firetalon really didn't feel like hanging around for reinforcements. Still, I guess if they thought this virus was going to do most of the actual fighting for them, they wouldn't need much of a force/"

"There's still the shrine, though," pointed out Sarpedon, then added, for the benefit of various puzzled expressions, "That's where Moonshadow goes to worship, and to mourn her ancestors. There are no scanners in-"

His aim had dipped only slightly, but Trueshot knew it was the best chance she would get, and she did not waste it. Lashing out with her foot, she caught the barrel of the blaster and sent it flying across the room, though not as far from the invaders as she would have liked. Still, their surprise offered her a tiny window of opportunity, so she rolled off the bench, landed neatly on her feet, and made a dash for the door. Her hand had only just brushed against the door control when she heard Stryxia's voice from behind her, so despairing and urgent that she stopped unthinkingly in her tracks:

"Trueshot, please! Don't move a servo. Megatron's got the blaster and it's aimed right at you. You wouldn't even have time for the door to open before she can shoot."

"No doubt, but you should know me better than to think I'll even take the risk," said Megatron, with both displeasure and menace. "Your impetuous little pet has made her last mista-"

"Err, about that 'no murdering' rule we agreed on before setting out on this little venture," interrupted Carly, expressing all of her allies' appalled expressions via the medium of sarcasm. "In case you weren't sure, that still applies."

"Oh, I agree that killing her would be wasteful," replied Megatron, unexpectedly if maliciously. "Especially since our hostess has been considerate, or stupid enough to let us know we need only wave a blaster in this creature's direction, and she'll do exactly as she's told. Still, it would be just as well to show them both that we're serious, and a maimed limb or two won't diminish her value as a hostage. Let's see how efficiently you've miniaturised Cybertronian pain receptors, shall we, Stryxia?"

"What the heck is wrong with y- ?" Amethyst began to ask, with disgusted incredulity, just as Megatron's trigger-finger tightened, immediately followed by the rest of his body. His eyes just had time to widen in shock before the red light in them dimmed, and he keeled over in a rigid, totally frozen posture, hitting the deck with a resounding clang, to Stryxia's relief and delight.

"Well, guess who forgot about her hostility limiter," she remarked, while Trueshot took advantage of the general distraction to operate the door control. "Tragic. I don't know if you can still hear me, Megatron, but that sounded like a nasty bump. I hope it gave you a good chance to appreciate those pain receptors I so lovingly engineer- … No, Trueshot!" she exclaimed, as the door slid closed behind the escapee. "You got lucky there, but it's still not a good idea to …" but the rest of what she said was hopelessly muffled by thick metal plating and distance, as Trueshot fled down the corridor. Painful as it was both to disobey her and to leave her alone with her enemies, Trueshot knew that it was for the best. _Megatron's right, curse him. While I'm there, she'll only think of me. Now she's free to act against the rebels, as am I. Lady Moonshadow would sooner die than become a vassal of the Autobots or corrupt human lords. I must find her if she's still here, warn her, make sure her plan succeeds. I only hope that she'll forgive me this intrusion,_ she thought, as she stopped outside the door of the stellar cartography chamber, unclipped her bow from its magnetic holder on her waist, and extended its limbs. It was a testimony to how trusted she was that she had seen Moonshadow enter this room on many occasions, never making any effort to conceal the door code from her as she typed it out. _She must have known I'd memorise it eventually, after so many centuries, but she always trusted me never to use it. So like her, that sense of honour … but I hope she'll understand, given the circumstances._ Reaching up to the high panel with her bow, she typed out the code.

The door slid open, revealing a vast, gloomy room, illuminated only by the tiny pinpoint lights of simulated stars in a high domed ceiling, and a dim red ambience cast by a huge, spherical hologram floating over a low dais in the centre. There was no immediate sign of Moonshadow, but as the doorway only offered a limited view of the chamber, Trueshot entered and looked around, to no avail. There was just the artificial firmament above, the metal floor below, the reliquary jars arranged at equal intervals around the edges of the room, and the hologram which, in spite of its three-dimensional appearance, seemed to follow her movements, so that she could only ever see it from one side. Ghostly and translucent, and surrounded by a large equatorial ring about twice the diameter of the spheroid itself, it resembled the ghost of a techno-planet like the images Stryxia had shown her of Cybertron, _only more evil._ Its desolate metallic surface was varied here and there with 'mountain ranges' that were simply clusters of colossal, vicious-looking spikes. There were no signs of habitation, and at one of the poles was a circular abyss surrounded by an iris of inward curving, sharply pointed panels, flanked by two great, horn-like mandibles, bearing a vague but horrible resemblance to a giant, cybernetic antlion trap. She got the impression it would have looked hideous enough even in its true form, assuming it had one, rather than as a luminous red phantom tracking her around the room like a demonic eye. _The icon of some Cybertronian deity, perhaps? Not Primus, surely. I'd always imagined something more benevolent for-_

 _Primus? An illusion, germs of chaos pathetically clutching at order and meaning where none exists._ It was not so much a voice than it was an invasive thought, but one with a distinctive tone; cold, resonant, and contemptuous, all the more inhuman and chilling for being right inside her head. _I am the only true order, but you cannot hope to comprehend me, weak, inconsequential creature. You have no business here._

"Who are you?" asked Trueshot, turning to face the hologram, which she was certain – for no other reason than powerful intuition – was the source of the alien 'voice.' "Are you … Moonshadow's god?" It was a curiously horrible idea, not at all to the credit of her beloved liege, and she was rather relieved the entity chose to mock it rather than confirm it:

_You persist in trying to understand? Your primitive conceits are no more than feeble echoes of a reality that far exceeds your wretched capacities and will devour you. If you must know, your crude mythology remembers me as Cronus. Now you comprehend me as well as you ever will. It is time for you to comprehend oblivion._

Trueshot had been on the point of fleeing, which she considered a perfectly natural and well-adjusted reaction when unexpectedly confronted with ancient, angry Titans given to castrating their divine fathers and swallowing their children whole, when the red light suddenly flared and engulfed the whole chamber. It was accompanied by a high-pitched electronic screech like the wailing of some robotic banshee, and an intense, icy pain in all of her circuits, so overwhelming that she could do nothing but collapse to the metal floor and writhe ineffectually. Other than the pain, which only seemed to grow worse by the millisecond, the rest of her senses quickly faded, along with the ability to form coherent thoughts, leaving just a hellish darkness filled with anguish and tormented emotions such as fear, shame, and futility. Her only conscious sense was the hope that it would end soon, and so it did, though not in the way she had expected, but with a violent sound, like an explosion. The pain eased to a dull but bearable throbbing, and her faculties slowly started to return, but when she could see well enough to form a clear picture of her surroundings, she feared that the torture had inflicted some cerebral damage. The chamber was now fully lit up with the same white, fluorescent light that was used throughout the ship, and the space over the dais was empty, devoid of the eerie red hologram. While this was a definite improvement, there was a figure standing by a smashed wall panel, now buckled and swinging off its broken hinges, exposing damaged, fizzing circuitry, who was even more disconcerting: as tall as Moonshadow, yet no Decepticon, but a four-armed, four-eyed, maroon-skinned giantess wielding a massive war hammer, shaped like a pair of red fists. Trueshot's sense of confusion was only slightly eased as the figure smiled widely, took a theatrical bow, then glowed white and divided into two, smaller forms, which quickly resolved into the figures of Pearl and Garnet. _Fair enough. This day's well and truly got the better of me,_ she thought, letting her head slump back upon the floor. _Just let me downtime for several hours, and I'll be a good little hostage. Not that I'm in any position to-_ The thought was interrupted as she was suddenly lifted by a pair of huge metal hands. Turning as best she could in their grip, she found herself looking into the deeply concerned face of Stryxia, who raised her visor and passed a scanning beam over her.

"No damage, thank Primus," declared Stryxia, as she turned off the beam, and the grip turned into an embrace. "I was so afraid it had killed you, but it obviously preferred to torture you first."

"It said it was Cronus … sort of," she explained, slightly muffled on account of having her face pressed against Stryxia's breastplate, feeling the soothing warmth and hum of her lover's energy absorbers. "Did you see it?"

"Yes … and it's not the first time I have," answered Stryxia, with a haunted air. "You remember, Pearl, when you first arrived here, I told you how before we came to Earth, we made an attempt to cross the intergalactic void and failed? How we only survived to return to this galaxy by the incredible … the literally incredible luck of finding some orphan planetoid we could land on to scavenge parts and make repairs? Well, that hologram we just saw … _that_ was the planetoid … and Moonshadow was the one who volunteered to leave the ship to gather the necessary parts."

* * *

_And now, in the final edition of Gratuitous OC Tech Spec …_

Autobot – Obsidian

Function – Reconnaissance

"Just don't call me 'pretty polygraph.'"

While having Decepticon parents would, one would imagine, be a pretty major social setback as an Autobot, having the redoubtable Chromia both as one's foster-mother and original commanding officer makes it far less of a problem. Indeed, while Obsidian loves her spark-parents dearly, she has come to regard her resistance comrades on Cybertron as just as much of a family, not that she would ever tell Stormbird that (Soundwave, of course, knows anyway, to his mortification).

Due to the bizarre circumstances of her inception, however, she also has a human family, hence her current secondment on Earth, to spend more time with them and to better understand her cultural heritage. This has also done a great deal to win over even some of her worst sceptics amongst the Earth Autobot cell, especially Hound, who wishes he could boast of a similar heritage. Not so much Cliffjumper, but you can't please all of the paranoid androids all of the time.

Flies up to 240mph in condor mode and can fire twin ionic pulses from her bird 'eyes.' This is a fairly short-range, defensive-only measure, though, as her main asset is stealth, with her abilities to fly almost silently and to cast a negligible radar signature. She is also well-known – if notorious rather than popular – for having inherited a partial telepathy from her father, giving her a sure-fire ability to sense when she is being lied to and dissembled. This makes her of considerable value as an intelligence operative, even though it makes many of her comrades less than keen to get into a conversation with her.

Strength – 6

Intelligence – 8

Speed – 7

Endurance – 5

Rank – 3

Courage – 9

Firepower – 3

Skill – 9


	9. Crank Call to Cthulhu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Moonshadow's god finally reveals itself, the Gems and Autobots realise that saving the Earth just became a lot more complicated (and unlikely).

**“Won’t it be grand to get rid of it all?”**

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Trueshot, nervously, as Pearl and Carly worked on re-wiring the circuits that Sardonyx had smashed. “Whatever that thing was, it nearly killed me.”

“We need to learn more about it, but don’t worry,” answered Pearl, encouragingly. “We’ll make sure it can’t hurt anyone this time. In theory, it should be easy enough to reprogram these receiver circuits with a psionic firewall so that they only transmit audio-visual data and reject any dangerous and harmful signals. Just in case this ‘titan’ of yours manages to override it, though, we’ve also rigged the circuits to short out as an emergency measure. We’ll be perfectly safe.”

“That sounds like a fairly complex modification for equipment you only just pummelled into next week,” observed Stryxia. “Not that I mean to question your technical skills or anything … but that _was_ an awfully large war hammer you hit it with.”

“Large, but by no means imprecise,” replied Pearl, proudly. “Oh, it’s true that _some_ fusions specialise in absolutely mindless, indiscriminate destruction,” she added, with a fleeting but nevertheless infuriating glance at Amethyst, to judge from the hard glare she got back, “but Sardonyx marries raw power with surgical accuracy. The actual damage to the components is minimal, and easily repairable.”

“Lucky us,” remarked Stryxia, listlessly, but earned herself a rather severe look from Garnet, who managed to communicate disapproval eloquently even through her impenetrable shades.

“Pearl’s right,” declared the fusion, stonily. “We need to know more about what we’re up against, and what your boss has been getting up to. I’ll accept that you didn’t know about it, but that also means there’s nothing really useful you can tell us about this ‘Unicron’ being, other than what you think its real name might be, so we’ll have to take the risk.”

“How _could_ I know anything about it, Garnet? For all Moonshadow’s piety, truth be told we Cybertronians barely even have a mythology anymore. Every generation of our kind for the past several million years has had one all-important educational priority: how to shoot a blaster straight. RE classes came _very_ low on our list. Oh, there are still a few ancient, legendary names floating about what passes for our culture, of course, but they’re more likely to be used as simple blessings or swear words than expressions of real faith. Primus, obviously. Unicron … well, that’s just a name for some ultimate badness or hopelessness, I suppose, like ‘Hell’ or ‘Hades’ on this planet, though whether it originally referred to a being or a place is way beyond me.”

“Hey, if it’s a living planet, I guess it’s got both angles covered,” pointed out Amethyst. “What about sleeping beauty there?” she asked, jerking her thumb towards Megatron, who was still unconscious and currently reclining in Sarpedon’s arms, which Trueshot could not help but find cynically amusing. _If we survive, I do hope someone keeps the security camera footage of this day for posterity. I’m sure his troops would love a copy of it._ “Maybe she knows a thing or two about it. Is she going to be unconscious much longer?”

“ _He_ , if you don’t mind, Amethyst,” replied Pearl, reproachfully. “I know tact and diplomacy aren’t your specialities, but do make an effort. As for how long, I really couldn’t say. Firetalon has all the cybergraft limiter codes, so all we can do is hope the cold reboot will bring him round in time.”

“I think I prefer him this way,” remarked Carly, drily, as she leaned back from the service panel. “Well, I guess that’s about done, Pearl. Before we switch on, any thoughts on who ought to be our spokesperson? No offence to Sarpedon and Trueshot, but I’ve a hunch this mecha-god thing might be a bit more responsive to someone who looks slightly less like an insignificant microorganism from its perspective, myself included.”

“I seriously doubt it’s likely to be impressed by _any_ of us, but I suppose Stryxia might be the best choice to take point, if she’s amenable. If this alien communicated with Moonshadow, it might at least see another Cybertronian as not completely beneath its notice.”

“High priest duties for the atheist?” remarked Stryxia, ironically. “If I must, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up about eternal salvation.”

“Surviving today will be fine,” said Garnet, stoically. “Just give it your best. _You_ don’t have to leave the room, though,” she added, as Carly made for the door. “I wouldn’t be afraid of hurting this thing’s feelings, if it has any.”

“It was more its suspicions I was thinking of,” replied Carly. “If it _does_ respond, I’d like to triangulate its signal and maybe get a fix on its location, but it might be best if I do that from the command deck. If it sees me poking about with the equipment here, it might decide it doesn’t like being traced and go silent. Anyway, I’ll get it done quicker with access to the ship’s main navicom.”

“Good thinking. Do you need me to set you up with a network link?” asked Stryxia. “I can-”

“I’ll manage, thanks.”

“Seriously? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re really wasted as an organic.”

“Appreciated, I guess … but let’s get on with it,” she declared, continuing on her way, although her parting words remained audible as she marched down the corridor: “If we can’t stop this thing, I’ve a hunch getting ‘really wasted’ will be the best option left for all of us.”

“Amen to that,” remarked Amethyst, drily. “Guess it’s about time for our crank call to Cthulhu, then?”

“Not that I’d have phrased it _anything_ like that, but yes,” agreed Pearl, resignedly. “Gather near the door, everyone … just in case,” she added, not very reassuringly, “then I’ll switch on.”

When they were assembled, and with all due reluctance, Pearl flipped a circuit breaker, to no obvious effect: the ambient lighting did not even dim, never mind give way to ominous red phantoms. Garnet turned to her with a questioning, critical expression, but a helpless shrug from Pearl was all the answer she seemed to need. She turned back to the centre dais and addressed it sternly, in spite of its apparent emptiness:

“Well, I guess if you think sulking’s the best way to deal with your issues, then carry on,” she remarked, but failed to provoke the apparition into rematerializing, while Stryxia looked at her incredulously.

“Schoolkid-level reverse psychology? Really?” the Decepticon scientist asked, wearily. “Is that standard Gem technique when negotiating with eldritch horrors?”

“Worth a shot,” remarked Garnet, albeit irritably. “If anyone knows a more promising approach, then-”

“Whoever you are, claiming to be Unicron, you would do well to drop your lofty disdain of us,” said Megatron, to general surprise. Having narrowly avoided dropping him, Sarpedon gently helped the Decepticon warlord back into a standing position. Once back on his feet, he straightened himself up with sluggish but determined movements, turned to face the dais, and continued to address it in a steely tone: “Your pathetic bridgehead here is now in _our_ possession, and your puppet Moonshadow is flying into an ambush. My warriors will imprison or terminate her before she can lay a finger on Prime. If her life means anything to you-”

 _You underestimate me, Megatron,_ interrupted the same cold, deep, inhuman voice that Trueshot had heard – or at least experienced – before, and judging by the reactions of everyone else in the room, she was not the only one. Moments later, the lights dimmed and the red hologram of the planet-like entity appeared over the dais, as it continued ‘talking’: _Moonshadow is a pawn, no more, but I have not manipulated her for three thousand years only to fail on the brink of victory. The Matrix is all that matters, and your insignificant forces will not deter me from claiming it._

“You know, that _was_ basically just telling it to stop sulking,” muttered Garnet, as an aside to Pearl, though loudly enough for Trueshot to catch it, “except more pompously.”

“Then maybe … it just responds well to pomposity,” speculated Pearl, in the same lowered tone, only for Amethyst to chip in at full, irreverent volume:

“Yeah, we should have let _you_ talk to it, Pearl. You and it would’ve have been best buds in no-” but she fell back into silence as both her colleagues shushed her insistently, while Stryxia began to address the image on the dais:

“The Autobot Matrix? _That’s_ what you want, the reason you’ve been brainwashing my best friend and my leader since before we even arrived on Earth? If you’re a god in your own right, what do you need holy relics for … and why not just claim it yourself, come to that? I may be a sceptic, but all this sneaking around doesn’t say a whole lot for your omnipotence.”

_If you are eager to see my power, Stryxia, you will have your curiosity sated soon enough, more than you could ever wish. As for the Matrix, it is mine by right. That is all it behoves you to-_

“You’re lying,” interrupted Obsidian, her tone more surprised than judgemental, although the hologram seemed to pulse a slightly darker, angrier red at her insight. “You fear it.”

“Well, I’d say that’s worth knowing,” remarked Amethyst, hopefully, and looked to the two Autobots for confirmation, but their faces were both grim and discouraging, and the entity’s cold voice was laced with smugness as it replied:

_Indeed, without the Autobot Prime to wield it, the Matrix will avail you nothing, and puppet or not, Moonshadow has served her purpose, and made certain that will not happen. I will be in your solar system long before you can remedy her sabotage, and then it will not be me that has cause to fear. Neither Cybertron nor Earth will be spared. Insignificant as they are, these primitive organics have given aid to my enemies, and in any case their destruction is inevitable, as your race ably ensured long before my involvement, Amethyst._

“ _Our_ race?” asked Pearl, trying to sound offended but only managing anxious. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Admittedly, Gemkind didn’t do this planet many favours, but I think you’ll find _we_ as in present company averted the worst of the carnage … unless somehow we didn’t. Of course, there’s still a fair bit of damage left to clear up, plenty of corrupted Gem mutants. Dangerous enough, though hardly apocalyptic … unless they evolved in some way, or started fusing,” she speculated, with rising notes of hysteria. “Hardly probable, mind, though I suppose there’s also the faint possibility of the Kindergartens being reactivated, or of the Geode failing catastrophically, or-”

“Calm down, Pearl,” interrupted Garnet, not unkindly, but insistently. “It’s just messing with our heads. Don’t play its games.”

_Games? So be it. Your ignorance is as unimportant as your existence, and both will be terminated in due course. You are powerless to prevent it._

“Bold words,” remarked Stryxia, nervously but bravely, “for one who has hidden in the shadows for thousands of years, if you’ll pardon my mentioning.”

 _Thousands, millions, billions, what should that signify to me? I am eternal, uncreated, indivisible, the final solution to chaos and entropy. You are dust, germs, your lives such as they are random, momentary electrical flickers, mere white noise, disordered and purposeless. This exchange is over. Make your peace while you can. Our next meeting will be terminal, and soon_ , it concluded, whereupon the hologram blinked out of existence and the lights brightened again, doing nothing whatsoever to lighten the funereal mood.

“Yeah, real nice meeting you too, dude,” said Amethyst, though even her sarcasm now had little heart in it. “Well, I guess that wasn’t a whole lot of use.”

“Well, at least we learned it’s vulnerable to _one_ thing,” pointed out Pearl, with desperate optimism. “This Matrix, if we can just figure out how to use it. Well, one of you must have _some_ idea,” she added, appealing to Bumblebee and Obsidian, but their wan expressions were most discouraging.

“No-one’s used the Matrix in living memory, Pearl,” explained Bumblebee, helplessly. “We don’t even really know what it does. The ancient saying usually goes that it will light our darkest hour, but that might even be a warning not to use it except as a total last resort. For all we know, it could unleash enough power to destroy this entire planet.”

“If that’s a ‘could’ rather than a ‘definitely will’ it might still be our best hope,” said Carly’s voice over the intercom, a little fuzzy but markedly grim and haunted. “You guys need to hear this: I used the subspace RDF to trace the signal to Alpha Scorpii: a binary system 170 parsecs away. It wasn’t hard to get a precise fix: there was a massive emission of gamma radiation from there a few moments ago, almost as if a black hole had formed, or something _really_ big had just jumped into hyperspace, if you get the picture.”

“All too well. How big and how soon?” asked Garnet, bluntly.

“How soon is hard to say. That depends more on its own drive systems than the real-space distance. Maybe hours, maybe minutes. As for how big … well, this is the worst bit. According to the star maps there should be a techno-planetoid called ‘Lithone’ in that system, a bit smaller than Cybertron but heavily populated … only there isn’t. There’s nothing.”

“It destroyed it?” exclaimed Pearl, appalled.

“Worse, if you can believe that. I’d say it consumed it, maybe for fuel or materials, and it didn’t leave a scrap. No debris field, not even residual radiation. Just a big black nothing where there used to be a world of over twenty million souls. Now granted, Earth’s a fair bit bigger than even Cybertron, so maybe it won’t try swallowing it whole, but I don’t think I want to find out what it _might_ try doing to it, so if the Matrix is our only hope then I suggest we take the quickest route to Autobot HQ right this instant and worry about _how_ we use it later.”

“The quickest route?” asked Stryxia. “You mean that old Gem warp system? I really don’t think-”

“I mean this ship, Stryxia. She could get us there in half an hour if she’s still airworthy.”

“She _might_ be … just about. Firetalon insisted on a minimal amount of drive and hull maintenance every few years, just in case. Mind you, she wasn’t exactly in stellar condition when we first landed her here, and that was three thousand-odd years ago. Don’t expect a chromium-smooth flight.”

“All the more reason for you to join me on the command deck, then. Even if I can make sense of the flight controls, the dashboard’s kind of on the big side.”

“Of course. There in a jiffy. Err, I don’t suppose either of you two know your way around the controls of a ship like this,” she remarked, hopefully, to Bumblebee and Obsidian, both of whom replied with helpless expressions, “only we might have less chance of dying horribly with a competent co-pilot … or even a not-too incompetent one.”

“Leave that to me,” volunteered Pearl. “I think I’m familiar enough with your control systems, and to anticipate your question, I can fix the size issue with a temporary shapeshift.”

“For half an hour, Pearl?” asked Garnet, sceptically. “That kind of shapeshifting puts a huge strain on you, even to get you up to Bumblebee’s size … no offence,” she added, as Bumblebee grimaced in annoyance. “It might be better if I volunteered for co-pilot.”

“I can handle the strain. Anyway, you’re not _that_ much taller than me, and with all respect, Garnet, you’re not a pilot either.”

“Maybe not, but if I use my future vision I could improvise well enough, I’m-”

“ _No_! That’s not the same at all! It takes practice and instinct, especially flying a ship in as poor a condition as this one. It has to be-”

“Urrrgh,” groaned Amethyst, in long-drawn exasperation. “Much as I hate to say it, there’s a freaking obvious solution to this you guys are missing … you know,” she added, emphatically, while using both of her hands to point at each of them in turn, crossing and uncrossing her arms. Her meaning quickly sunk in, Pearl sighed, Garnet slapped her own forehead, then they both linked hands, performed a very brief but perfectly synchronised tango, there was a blinding flash of white light, and moments later, after it had faded, they had both disappeared. The fusion Sardonyx again stood in their place, as tall as any Decepticon, with two of her white-gloved hands held behind her back, one perched jauntily on her wide hips, and the other raised in a flamboyant gesture.

“Back by popular demand already?” she asked, bombastically. “Well, if my public need me so desperately, then who am I to contra- ?”

“ _So_ not the time, Sards,” interrupted Amethyst, with profound unamusement. “Geez, I’m regretting this idea already.”

“Don’t. It was a great idea,” said Stryxia, earnestly. “Undeniably weird, but great. I’ll get up to the command deck and start the engine checks. Err, if you’d care to join me, Sardonyx-”

“Aye, aye, skipper,” answered Sardonyx, cheerily, while throwing a salute. “Anyone who’d prefer to disembark, now’s your chance, unless you were looking forward to a nice, long, bracing swim back.”

“Sarpedon?” asked Trueshot, turning to her fellow cybergraft, but the Spartan warrior shook his head, with a small, resigned smile.

“If this _is_ to be the end, I would as soon face my foe, titan or not,” he answered, with grim determination, which even elicited a vaguely impressed look from Megatron. “What of you, lady Cretan? Will you try that bow of yours against Cronus himself?”

“For what little good that will achieve … but it is better to die in the company of loved ones,” she replied, exchanging sad, tender looks with Stryxia. With a forced attempt at an encouraging smile, Stryxia made to leave the room, but paused as she saw Megatron starting to follow her.

“You’re disembarking?” she asked, hopefully.

“Hardly,” he replied, contemptuously. “I grant you, this ridiculous body you’ve burdened me with is nothing _but_ limitations. Be that as it may I _am_ actually the only one here who has ever captained a Decepticon cruiser of this exact same class.”

“Valid point,” admitted Stryxia, grudgingly. “All hands on deck, then,” she concluded, and marched out of the room, quickly followed by Sardonyx and Megatron. Amidst those who remained, a gloomy silence reigned for several moments, finally broken by Obsidian:

“This might sound strange … but I kind of felt sorry for it.” She was correct in her prediction, as she instantly drew incredulous and appalled looks from all and sundry.

“That thing? A monster planet that just murdered twenty million people and Primus knows how many before?” asked Bumblebee, disgustedly. “I feel sorry for _us_ , but I’d happily push old Cyber-Satan into the nearest supernova, if only that was an option.”

“I know, I know. It’s … just a weird kind of empathy, I guess. He’s a shit liar. All that about him being a god and us being worthless germs … Sure, he hates us, but he hates himself even more, and I think he hates his creator, whoever that was, most of all.”

“I though he said he didn’t have a creator.”

“Yeah, and that was total bullcrap. Well, I guess his spark, if he’s got one, might be eternal, but his body sure isn’t. Someone made him that way … and I can relate how that sucks, at least a little bit. Don’t get me wrong, I love visiting my grandfolks, and the whole village always do their best to make me feel welcome. If there’s a ceremony or a dance I’m always invited, they make up a bed for me in the community hall so I don’t have to downtime in the open, we always have our meals outdoors, they always make sure to stock up some energon, and grandma’s even taught herself how to make chrome-alloy cake. They’re nothing but great … but still, do you know how it feels to be the only giant robot sitting at the family dinner table?”

“Insanely awesome?” guessed Amethyst, with sincere bewilderment. Obsidian gave a short, sad laugh, and shook her head.

“It wears thin quicker than you’d think, Amethyst,” she answered, wryly. “I guess I shouldn’t complain. I’ve had a pretty decent life … in spite of basically being a child soldier for fourteen years, but still, I’m not short on people who care about me. It’s hard not to get jealous sometimes, though, and if that’s what it’s like for _me_ , I dread to think what it’d be like if I was some planet-sized abomination, all alone in space for billions of years, with huge amounts of power but nothing to do with it except destroy. I guess killing and trying to delude itself it’s got some great purpose or destiny is the only solace that poor bastard’s got. Sure, it doesn’t change the fact we’ve got to stop it at all costs, but I think this might be a mercy killing in more ways than one.”

 _Let’s hope_ , thought Trueshot, with pessimistic irony. However, a thoughtful, solemn silence persisted for a few seconds before Stryxia’s voice came over the intercom:

“Take-off in just a moment, folks. Engine power building, all hatches and airlocks sealed. No time for second thoughts now. Just cross your digits.”

“Yeah, and find something to hold on tight to,” suggested Amethyst.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” replied Stryxia. “You’ll barely feel-” but Trueshot missed the end of this sentence, if there was one, on account of being slammed to the floor by an irresistible force that kept her pinned there like a dead butterfly for several disorienting seconds. Though she could barely move her head, she could see that even Bumblebee had failed to keep his footing, and Amethyst’s whole form had been compressed and distorted by the immense g-force, leaving her looking like a very surprised reflection in a fairground mirror. Fortunately, it was not long before the pressure eased and they were all able to scramble to their feet again, while Megatron’s shrill new voice – though just as angry and scornful as ever – screeched out of the speaker:

“Incompetent fool! Inertial absorbers, I said! The control isn’t hard to find. It’s the large mauve button right next to the primary guidance-”

“I know!” cut in Stryxia, irritably. “I’ve found it now, haven’t I? Sorry about that, everyone. My bad. Won’t happen … What do you mean, the ‘large mauve button?’ The whole damn instrument panel’s mauve. It’s a bloody Decepticon ship.”

“Yes, darling, you really ought to put sticky labels on them,” suggested Sardonyx. “Shall I unfuse and have a rummage through Pearl’s gem? I’m sure she’s got some stashed away in-”

“You stay where you are!” barked Megatron. “I want you monitoring those screens at all times. The main thrusters will be online any astro-second now, and unless we raise our game, that will likely result in severe damage all round, and the fleshing being jellified.”

“Gee, I really appreciate the concern,” said Carly, acidly, but the bickering stopped soon enough as the engine hum rose in pitch and volume, and a gentle but still rather worrying vibration pervaded through the entire ship. Bumblebee walked over to the exterior wall and pulled back the sliding hatch on a porthole. It revealed that they were ascending at a steep angle, Aeaea already out of sight, with only clouds and distant sea beneath them, and more clouds, small and thin, streaking past the window but getting thinner by the second. Soon the clouds petered out altogether, and the sky darkened as the ship cruised above the atmosphere itself.

 _We’ve achieved sub-orbital flight. So far so good_ , thought Trueshot. _Now we need only survive landing this ancient hulk and battling a wrathful titan. I should almost certainly feel as scared as that poor, fleeing, stammering slave who stumbled upon this ship’s crew so many centuries ago, so why don’t I? Maybe I have grown a bit, or maybe going into battle with my lover emboldens me for her sake … or more likely it’s all just so surreal that even my fear’s given up trying to make sense of it._


End file.
